A/N: I do not own Narnia. C.S. Lewis does. I don't own the movies either.
Once, the word traitor had been a loosely dispensed term in his vocabulary, a word he used to tease his friends when they joked about snitching on him to the headmaster or a word he used to describe the goody-two-shoes students that told on others to get into the teachers' good graces. It had been a simpler time then. All he'd had to do was worry about school and homework and how long until summer break and he got to see his family again. But then the war had come and taken his father away and turned his brother into a self-righteous prat, and sent him and his siblings to a house in the countryside where a Professor who did not know about every room in the house lived and where there was a wardrobe in the spare room that was filled with coats and mothballs and that no one really cared about.
But then, his younger sister Lucy led their family into a world within a wardrobe, and that changed everything.
Witches were no longer make-believe characters from within a story-book. Winter was no longer just about snow angels and snow balls and snow days. Love became so much more than Valentine's day and crushes and beaus and kisses and hugs. Sacrifice was so much more than just giving up something for others, but laying it down willingly for the sake of those you loved more than the world. Betrayal was more than tattling, but turning your back on everyone you hold dear. And out of a foolish, childish desire to prove himself to be more than just a little boy, he'd done exactly that.
Traitor King.
After their coronation and Aslan's disappearance came a crash course in how to be a King, and an even lengthier lesson on how to let go of the past. Aslan's words stayed with him as he struggled to repair his relationship with his brother and rise from his mistakes.
It was not easy.
In the early days of their reign, their life had been a political mess. They'd been children thrust into the roles of adults, only made worse by the circumstances under which they'd come to Narnia, the circumstances he'd caused. The soldiers who'd fought with them against the Witch had witnessed all that had happened at the fields of Beruna and all that had happened with the Witch had been forgiven. But those who had not witnessed the battle nor the Coronation were another story. Narnians had come by the dozen to Cair Paravel to meet their new rulers in court and raise questions, complaints, and doubts, a lot of which had been about their new King's loyalties. He could still remember the sinking cold pit in his stomach as finger after finger pointed toward the royal dais, voice after voice raised in demand, questioning his loyalty to Narnia, questioning his brother's loyalty to the Lion. Questioning whether or not their new King would betray them yet again to a great evil. For days, his ears had been ringing with those two, poisonous words.
Traitor King.
Years passed. The courtroom accusations ceased as they maintained their calm and explained all that had happened since their arrival in Narnia. Most of their new subjects were appeased, though a great number still remained wary of them and were only persuaded by stern inputs from their new General, Oreius. Though the confrontations with doubtful Narnians ceased within a few months, the aftereffects of their trials remained. He often relived that worst of nightmares, awakening to the concern and guilt ever-present in his brother's eyes.
It only got worse as they two were forced to go to war, little boys as Knights and Warriors and Kings. War against Giants in the North, war against Fell Beasts to the West, war to aid the Archenlanders in the South, war against the traitorous dukes of the Eastern Isles. Battle after battle, tears shed, blood spilled, boys that grew into men with each slain enemy. Trauma that continued long after the battles and manifested themselves in the form of night terrors and screams loud enough to awaken the entire Cair. It became habit, eventually, his midnight visits. All too often, late nights spent in his brother's room, seeking comfort and reassurance and affirmation that yes, I'm alive, you're alive, we both came back, we'll be okay, and crying until Dawn broke over the Eastern horizon and their sisters joined them in an embrace of love and comfort and support. Tear-stained cheeks and sweat-matted hair became the norm every time one of them sought the other, and through it all the only constant was his brother's gaze and strong determination, his persistent attempts to share the load, to ease his guilt. Things would get better, for a while.
Until the next time they went to a war and an enemy faced them, screaming those dreaded words.
Traitor King.
And then finally, things got better and they stayed better. Narnia was entering an era of peace and his brother constantly teased him now about gray hairs and spare time spent chasing after dryads and naiads and running away from princesses and duchesses and tarkheenas. The constant throbs of guilt that he'd once experienced lessened and dulled with time. Evenings were spent walking through the woods and the gardens, playing on the beaches, less nights were spent running down the hallway to his brother's room. They played chess with their friends and laughed and loved and rejoiced in their life, and some part of him finally decided to let go of that Other Place. They were finally happy.
Then Mr. Tumnus ran to them and told them of the reappearance of the White Stag.
And then, in a manner that sent chills up his spine (because, really, haven't they been here before?), Lucy begged and cajoled for an impromptu hunt ("It's just the Western Woods, and it's better than Su's idea of fun!" "And what's wrong with my ideas of fun?" "They're boring!"), so they set off midmorning and spot the Stag in the afternoon.
The chase is wonderful and his heart is racing with adrenaline and thrill as they chase the beautiful creature through the Woods. But then they pause because Lucy feels the need to banter, and then they spot it. A lantern. And Lucy is running headfirst into adventure once more, and the rest of them follow, no matter how badly every nerve in his body is screaming to turn back. But then a chill runs through his spine as loam gives way to wood and the trees seem to whisper accusingly at him as he abandons his home of fifteen years for a world that is no longer his own.
Traitor King.
Going back was one of the worst experiences of his life. Everything he was, everything he'd become, wiped away in seconds. Leaving him with nothing but memories that were fading fast of a magical land within a magical wardrobe, replaced with horrible, dreaded memories of the person he'd been before he became a King. And there were so many reminders of the beast he'd been before here in England, even only in the professor's house ("You just have to make everything worse, don't you?" "Shut up! You think you're dad, but you're not!") and he fears becoming that person again.
Returning to Finchley only makes things worse.
Eventually, they're forced to interact with their peers. Now, everything his old companions say and do seem shallow and low and he doesn't understand how he was like them once. His brother has the same struggle and it comes to an explosion as his brother cuts ties with all his old friends, much to his own protest. ("What did you do that for?" "They weren't worth my time."), and slowly, his brother drifted away from him. Soon, there're fights, the ones that his peers start by challenging him that his brother jumps into, and the ones between him and his brother, who was calling him immature and childish. But it wasn't fair, not when his brother was the one jumping into fights that were none of his business, poking his nose into matters where he wasn't wanted. And then he had the gall to call him immature like that?
Traitor King.
He's relieved when they finally return, (because then, everything can go back to normal, right?), only to be horrified when they all realize that it is no longer the home they left behind. Cair Paravel is gone, their friends are gone, and his family's cracking at the edges. Lucy is distant and pensive, separated from the rest of them. Susan is distrusting, disbelieving. He and his brother hardly speak at all. The final blow is to hear those two words again, a year and a century later from when he last heard them. His brother's also frozen and his sisters are stunned, because why, of all the things that could've remained from the Golden Age, those two, horrible words had to be remembered. The look on Nikabrik's face as the Black Dwarf said it set him on edge. The unease is still in his stomach as they set out for the raid.
Traitor King.
The next time he heard it, it was no longer three syllables echoing out loud but two words mentally crippling him as her ice melted and shattered before him, bringing back old, near-forgotten memories of their first time in Narnia, how weak and pathetic he'd been before her then (Hello, Little King.). They'd nearly lost, just now, all because of his weakness. Because of a moment of hesitation as he stood, sword in hand, in front of a wall of ice. And now, he was discovering, that as horrible as it had been to hear those words out loud before, it was nothing compared to the torture he was currently undergoing as his own mind reverberated the words back at him.
Traitor King.
The fire line going around the cavern has melted the ice and restored warmth and comfort to the sacred place. His gaze resolutely focuses straight ahead. He hasn't moved since earlier and he refuses to turn around because the only thing behind him is the Table that is the very symbol of everything he betrayed. The archway entrances him, hypnotizes him as his mind continues replaying the scene from earlier over and over again as the ice wall shatters and reveals Edmund, looking every inch the Knight of the Lion, the Just King of Narnia. The same way he'd always been ever since Oreius had rescued him from the Witch's camp, through the Golden Age and England and the return and just last night during the raid on Beaversdam. How, he wonders, could anyone have ever called his brother a traitor, when Edmund had been tricked, led astray, and betrayed himself. How could any of those Narnians have pointed at him and called him the Traitor King when Edmund had been forgiven by the grace of the Aslan and when he'd spent every minute of his life since serving Aslan in penance for his wrongdoings, keeping his Faith cemented in stone and his eyes fixed on He who saved him, saved them all, living up to the title of the Just. The way he should've instead of picking petty fights and blaming them on his brother, trying to prove himself needlessly, and sacrificing the lives of brave Narnians over pride.
Peter stared up at the likeness of Aslan carved out in the stone. The sadness and solemnity in the Lion's face seemed so real, and Peter gasped slightly as a harsh wind blew through the cavern and-
"Peter, dearest of sons, why have you betrayed me?"
-wept bitterly, unable to face any longer the likeness of the King that he had betrayed. And in that moment, he knew that the irony would always strike him, whom his subjects had called noble and honorable and steadfast and Magnificent and faithful.
For never had he imagined that he would be the Traitor King.
A/N: In retrospect, I'm not overly sure about this fic but I wanted to post something already so... I hope it was clear in the end. Please comment!
And thanks to all the wonderful people who have been reviewing/following/favoriting my stories! I love you guys!