as if you were the small room closed in glass

OUT OF CHARACTER
Player Name: rie
Are you 16 or older: I was 16 when the dinosaurs were still walking the earth
Contact: birdsuit#9058 (disco), PM, fleeting
Current Characters: N/A
Tag: Edmund Pevensie

IN CHARACTER
Name: Edmund Pevensie
Canon: The Chronicles of Narnia (bookverse)
Canon Point: immediately following his death in The Last Battle.
Age: 19. His age is a bit nebulous, because he lived to 25 in Narnia and was returned to his 10-year-old body when Aslan sent him back to England. He's not "technically" a 25-year-old - Narnia is fuzzier now than it was - but he has knowledge and maturity beyond his years.

History: HERE

Personality:

Edmund was born into one world and found himself in another—he is a boy, and a king, a combination which reaches a kind of transcendental synergy within him. As a child, he was spiteful and rude, unable to justify his existence in a world where War and its inflated self-worth came knocking on his family's front door.

It was Narnia who changed him, Narnia in all of its pain and glory. His actions nearly led to the death of his siblings and to the ruin a country that came to be his own. And yet, he was forgiven, offered a crown, and settled upon a throne. Edmund shifted, grew into the weight of his bones, learned to shift away from the darkness that had once defined him. He was named King Edmund the Just, and a more fitting title could not have been bestowed. While he was a talented swordsman, his true prowess lay in the council room, where he navigated politics with an eye for subtlety that men twice his age had not yet cultivated. He learned to understand the duality of words, of actions, of life itself.

Perhaps it was his own search for justice that prompted him to take upon the role with such success -- because, after all, Edmund had never been called upon to pay for his own sins. Because of this, Edmund is a man that considers what he does before he does it. Very rarely does he act on impulse. Even with his inherent flaring temper, he's learned to bite his tongue and come at a situation from a multitude of directions before passing judgment.

It should also be mentioned that Edmund is more of a natural follower than a leader. That's not to say that he cannot lead -- he does so with a quiet strength befitting of the position -- but his particular skill set is most valuable when he's playing second-in-command. At first, before Narnia became his reality, this grated on Edmund's nerves. Peter, charismatic and loved by all, was the natural leader, while Edmund did not have the same vivacity of character. But he has since learned to embrace his own strengths in their entirety, and his resentment has faded to the memory of it.

Edmund was also the one who spearheaded all diplomatic foreign relations. Susan wove the pretty alliances with her calm, soothing manner, Peter was the impressive barrel-chested charisma at the helm, Lucy charmed foreign dignitaries with her natural sweetness, but it was Edmund who knew how and why Narnia would be an asset to other countries; so it was Edmund who braided such relations together on the practical level.

There's a thirst for knowledge in him that manifests in his sharp, quick-witted manner and makes him a fascinating companion. If Peter is the explorer, Edmund is the navigator -- it's Edmund that would be heading the mapmaking efforts and the like. He's the pillar of support behind the High King, allowing Peter to take the lion's share of the glory but working diligently behind the scenes. He has an eye for details that makes him invaluable both on the battlefield and in the council chambers; never does he speak in an official capacity without knowing that he has something of value to offer.

Thus, as a companion Edmund is muted but warm, quiet but intent in the words he does speak. He prefers the company of his siblings, but that's a curiosity that's shared amongst all the Pevensie siblings, and not only a reflection of Edmund's personality. He has a very dry sense of humor that can sometimes err towards a biting sarcasm; however, he's learned that his acerbic tongue has a negative effect on all around him, and has since reined it in. At times of weakness, he can slide back into his sharp temper and resentfulness, but age and maturity have tempered him.

In Narnia, the four Pevensies were given the kingdom to rule -- as a unit, not as four individuals. As such, they grew together instead of apart; each of their strengths were complementary, each of their weaknesses covered. Thus, a simple examination of Edmund's relationship with each of his siblings will tell us much about Edmund as a character.

Edmund's relationship with Peter is perhaps the most illuminative. As brothers, the sense of rivalry was instilled in them when they were very young. Edmund resented Peter for the magnificence that his brother had even whilst a child in war-torn England. Peter, in turn, treated Edmund with scorn and ridicule. In Narnia, they built bridges and bridges until they became not only brothers at heart, but brother-kings, united on the battlefield and in the court of Cair Paravel. The girls, perhaps, did not have quite the same burden that the boys did -- as such, they grew close in a way that would define them long after they left Narnia's borders.

With Susan, Edmund's relationship is perhaps the most understated. They are similar in temperament, immersing themselves in shades of gray rather than in the stark extremes that Lucy and Peter embrace. It is Edmund who escorts Susan to her husband-to-be in Calormene, a service that he provides despite his misgivings about the match. They both value rationality over emotions. Because of their similarities, Susan and Edmund are defined by their respect for one another -- they do not love each other as openly as Peter and Lucy do. But it's a relationship that works for the both of them as it may not for anybody else.

Edmund's relationship with Lucy speaks most about the warmth and the loyalty that Edmund has cultivated over the years. Lucy is the youngest, and Edmund had resented her for that when they were children, as Susan and Peter had both indulged her in ways that Edmund had never known. But Edmund shifts from ridiculing her to acting as her greatest advocate, and this does not change over the years. They are the youngest of the four, and separated from Peter and Susan by this divide, transient as it is, and as such form a friendship strengthened by honesty and love.

In England, Edmund is a less extreme version of his Narnian self. He carries himself with a quiet demeanor unusual for one of his age, but he's eased back into the playfulness befitting of his teenage years. His quick, analytical mind has allowed him to succeed in the classroom. While he may not be the most popular on the field, he's good-natured and clever-tongued enough to have a steady circle of friends.

All in all, Edmund appears to be a sharp-tongued young man, calm and composed, occasionally a bit too serious. He collects books like others collect postage stamps, and he knows the train schedules better than the conductors themselves. He has a sarcastic remark for every situation he finds himself in, but the hint of a smile on his face will ease the bite of his words..

Most of all, Edmund will never forget the way he betrayed his siblings and Narnia. Perhaps he'll never be able to move past that fixation, but it's made him into a better man all the same. As such, Edmund never takes anything for granted -- he will always have something to prove.

Abilities/Skills:

- He's very good at climbing things.
- He has an eye for detail, and it shows in his organization skills.
- He excels in politics.
- He's a proficient swordsman. He can also fight passably with a spear and a bow.
- He's a skilled horseman.
- He has an excellent technical memory (for example, he memorized England's train timetables just because he enjoys how clean and structured it is)

Strengths
- Quick-witted
- Diplomatic
- Slow to judgment
- Practical

Weaknesses:
- Has a temper, but it burns cold rather than hot
- Can be sharp-tongued
- Slow to trust
- Can be insecure - and will withdraw emotionally if so

Items:

• A leather schoolbag with the crest of his boarding school embossed on the front flap, scuffed at the edges but serviceable. The contents of which are listed as follows:
  
  • A pencase, containing the following: one cheap black fountain pen, with an extra ink cartridge and an extra steel nib. Three pencils, one reduced to a stub. A ruler. A broken-off piece of a rubber. A drafting compass.
    
  • Two lined notebooks, one of which is filled with Edmund's cramped handwriting.
    
  • A few looseleaf sheets of paper.
    
  • A roll of stamps.
    
  • A box of matches.
    
  • A novel: The Man Who Went Back by Warwick Deeping. About halfway through, one of the pages has been folded over to mark his place.
    
  • A pocketknife, its blades dulled from use.
    
  • A rather squashed corned-beef sandwich.
    
  • Yesterday's newspaper.
    
  • He's wearing a simple cotton collared shirt, black trousers, a plaid sweater, and worn shoes.
    
  • His pocket contains the following:
    
    • His wallet, containing a few coins, a five-pound note, the stub of a train ticket, his university ID, and a picture of his family. There's also a few scraps of paper with scribbled addresses and phone numbers tucked into the money flap.
      
    • Another pencil.
      
    • His handkerchief.

SAMPLES

Network Sample:

( There's a long sweep of a wooden table, segmented into bars by the sunlight falling in through the windows. At the edge of the screen is a mass of books, piled haphazardly around a young man. He's holding the Forge at an arm's length, staring into the screen with his mouth pursed and his brow furrowed — he's never known technology like this, and only his careful hours of cataloging its functions have allowed him to use it as he is.

It's another moment before he speaks. )

Alright, then. I'm Edmund Pevensie, of — ( He stutters here, nearly saying Narnia -- , but catching himself at the last moment. Strange. He hadn't stumbled like that since he was ten and newly a child again. ) Finchley, England. It was 1949 when I left, if that means anything to any of you.

( He takes in a breath, lets it out again. ) I've sifted through all the nonsense about Thisavrou's history here. And the history of another dozen of these so-called worlds. A veritable smorgasbord of absolute and utter bollocks, if a poor abductee is allowed an opinion.

( He pronounces Thisavrou with the clumsy inflection of one who's only read the word. But the rest of his delivery is calm and clear, at complete odds with his pale face and the severity of his eyes. He's thinking about his brother and his sister and the high-pitched screeching of locked wheels on the train rails. )

—I've stumbled through a hundred different theories, but this is far too interesting to be Heaven and far too temperate for Hell. Never quite believed in the corrupted cesspool of the Church and all it stands for, anyway. ( And his gaze flicks back up, past the video screen to the window behind it. ) What's the middle ground, then?

Prose/Action Sample:

[ A gooseberry bush grows outside of Edmund's window. Its vines have crept about the wooden frame, like a great green set of parenthesis.

The radio, perched atop the bookshelf in the corner, is playing a jaunty little American jazz tune, and Edmund finds himself whistling along.

(He has never been particularly fond of gooseberries, admittedly. He has had a terrible sweet tooth ever since the sugar ration during the war, and the tartness of the berries only reawakens that hunger.)

Now, it's just past ten o'clock in the morning, and Edmund sits in the wide frame of his window, idly plucking gooseberries and flicking them out into the garden. He's reading an almanac written by the founder of the village in which their tiny cottage sits, and amusing himself by picking out all the ridiculous quasi-scientific notions that even the most learned of village people seem to have cultivated.

He's not thinking about Lucy sitting under a thatched roof on the southern border of Narnia, eating gooseberry pie prepared by a flaxen-haired minor lady under King Lune's dominion. He's not thinking about how he'd stolen half the pie and offended poor Lady Kettleburg with his inability to swallow the damnably tart pie. He's not thinking how Lucy and Peter and even Susan had laughed at him and forced him to reacquaint himself with the etiquette lessons under the grand old lady partridge that had been in charge of such things.

He's not thinking about how Peter's body had shielded him from the worst of the impact, nor how Lucy had looked strewn upon the floor of their compartment, blood staining her lips.

(One year ago, now.)

No, Edmund is simply laughing to himself about how the village elders seem to think that myrrh and frankincense were brought by the Three Kings to the Holy Family to ward off Satan, and how the village townspeople should do the same. ]

—Su!

[ he calls, when his vision has grown so blurry with tears that he cannot read the next words. He wipes an arm carelessly across his face.

He just wants to read her this passage so she can laugh about it, too. That's all. ]

Where in God's name have you gone?


--

Another sample, just because the first one is a bit niche re: Edmund's temper --

[ There are certain unattractive tasks that go hand-in-hand with running a country — for Edmund, one of the worst has to be socializing with the sort of people on which he would have been drawing moustaches in the newspapers back in the hazy world of Spare Oom. The worst, of course, is when whichever Sir Stuffed-Blouse of the moment decides to take a liking to either of Narnia's beautiful (overly so, in Edmund's honest opinion — Lucy and Susan's faces caused more conflicts than any economic or political matter that Narnia has ever known) Queens.

Peter, in his magnificent way, has mastered the art of settling a hand over Aslan's golden head at the butt of Rhindon, which sends a clear enough message even to the most persistent of suitors. Unfortunately, the High King and his rather unsubtle approach to foreign relations have both absconded off to the Southern edge of Narnia to sojourn with King Lune for a fortnight, so Edmund is left to look threatening in his place.

Even more unfortunately, though Edmund's scowl has the ferocity of thirty of Peter's, he's yet lacking in the height and breadth that makes Peter such a fearsome figure. Lord Plumm from one of the outlying islands of Terebinthia seems to think that the three decades separating himself from Susan are a trifle, for he's kissed her hand thrice and asked her to dance a grand total of six times.

Edmund, chewing his way through his fourth strawberry trifle of the night, doesn't know whether to be amused or horrified. ]

—perhaps if I slipped upon the hem of the ridiculous gown you're wearing. [ He's murmuring under his breath to Susan, though his gaze is fixed on Plumm's approaching figure. ] And dropped the entirety of my goblet of wine down his tunic.