Only Just

by literary deviant

Edmund has completely frozen in his spot where he is about a few feet behind Peter, and he stares up at Jadis with a kind of fascinated horror. "What have you done?" he breathes, his horror-struck voice barely above a whisper. Because now the White Witch stands before them in all her terrible, beautiful glory, flesh and blood once more.

1. Chapter 1: Temptation

Disclaimer: I am not C.S Lewis, nor am I a Hollywood producer. I am just a 14 year old girl who is totally and completely obsessed with Edmund Pevensie, hence the name 'fanfiction'.

So this is my first Narnia fanfiction. I've had a recent obsession with our very own Just King, and have several story ideas with him smack in the center, and this is the one I decided to go with, just the classic, cliché the-white-witch-returns-in-Prince-Caspian plot. It revolves mostly around Edmund, and also focuses a lot on his relationship with Peter (brotherly ONLY), though the others will have a large part in it as well. (FYI, there will be Suspian [Caspian/Susan])

1. TEMPTATION

{ "Most dangerous is that temptation that doth goad us on to sin in loving virtue." –William Shakespeare }

Prince Caspian the Tenth stalks angrily through Aslan's How, his brown eyes never meeting those of the Narnians he passes. He is afraid and ashamed of what he will see in them: anger, betrayal, hurt; all directed at him, reminding him of his failure, not just to Narnia, but to the Great Lion Himself. He is a failure, to both Narnia and her people.

The soon-to-be king lets out a greatly relieved breath of air as he reaches the tunnel that leads to the room where the Stone Table is located, and finally finds himself surrounded by no one but himself. He needs to be alone, he needs to get away. He can't stand all the accusing looks and the High King's angered glares. He can't face Susan's ashamed glances, or the Just King's stoic expression, or Lucy's grieving features as she looks over how many of their numbers have been lost in the raid. He needs to get away from the sounds of the sobs of widows, away from the memories of watching the slaughter and murder of the Narnians trapped in the castle. He just needs to get away; by Aslan, he can't take this!

The images bombard him: blood, death, carnage. He feels sick, and his throat closes up, making it hard to breathe through his grief, the memories overwhelming him. He can only push away tears and the smoldering ache in his chest by bringing forth anger, letting that consume him instead of the heartache of loss and guilt, pushing the blame on others, on Peter. None of this would have happened if it hadn't been for him! This is all his fault.

Caspian growls beneath his breath as he stops in front of the stone wall with the carving that shows the coronation of the Four. He can't help thinking that they look much more magnificent in the drawing. But in his mind's eye, High King Peter in no way deserves his title of Magnificent. He is as presumptuous and as arrogant as they come, and Caspian had expected better from the High King of Old. A king is supposed to be confident in their abilities, Caspian knows, but there is a thin line between confidence and arrogance, and King Peter has since long ago passed it. Even his picture on the wall seems to radiate arrogance. That arrogance has gotten so many killed, has nearly killed him time and time again! Caspian can think of no one less deserving of being a king.

"Are you still glad for the arrival of the Kings and Queens of Old now?" comes a raspy voice from behind him.

Caspian quickly turns to see the Black Dwarf, Nikkabrik, emerge from the shadows cast by the light from the flickering torches. He is instantly weary around him, for he knows that Black Dwarfs are not to be easily trusted, and that most used to work for the White Witch, Jadis, centuries ago. Nikkabrik is a shady character and Caspian has not spoken to him much. Still, the dwarf has fought well for them and Caspian knows he is close to Trufflehunter, another devoted Narnian. Perhaps he should listen to what Nikkabrik has to say. It can't hurt anything, right?

The Dwarf continues, his words echoing in the tunnel and resonating closely with Caspian's own feelings. "The queens have done nothing; the eldest one blindly follows orders and the younger just yammers on about her invisible lion."

Although Caspian's immediate reaction is to defend Susan, and the younger one, too, and to defend Aslan, knowing he should, he can't bring himself to speak; not when he sees the truth in Nikkabrik's statement, no matter how he abhors it. Susan follows Peter regardless of their disagreements and arguments. And as for Queen Lucy's faith in Aslan… he wants to believe her, he really does. He wants to know that the Great Lion is real, and that somewhere out there, He is protecting him from harm, watching over him, over them all. But he can't stop himself from thinking… if Aslan really is real and not just some made up storybook tale, then where is He? Where was He when all those Narnian soldiers died for nothing? Why hadn't He stopped the High King from making that deadly mistake? Why hadn't He saved his father, or stopped Miraz? If He is so great and so real, then where is He when they all need Him?

Then Nikkabrik hits the center of Caspian's ire, the target of his recent anger. "And what has the magnificent High King done? Put you down; taken over. Led your army into a massacre."

It is as though he knows exactly the right buttons to push.

Despair rises in Caspian's heart as the Black Dwarf opens his eyes to the reality of the Sovereigns he has so idolized as a child. In a last hope, he tries desperately to cling to the image of them being the brave heroes he has always imagined them to be before. "But King Edmund... he has not failed," he says, speaking of the one of the Four whom he knows the least about and has had the least contact with.

"Hasn't he?" answers Nikkabrik with a sneer. "He's a strong fighter and he's done well enough in battle, but he doesn't understand that it takes more than blind faith to win a war. He prays to Aslan, but has the Lion ever answered? He follows the High King without question; where did that get him? He can't see past the Lion, past his brother, to see what it takes to get what you want."

Caspian hesitates before he responds, his intrigue battling with his loyalty to the kings and queens that the Dwarf is now speaking ill of. Intrigue wins. "And you think you can help me?"

Nikkabrik grins, and the feature somehow doesn't look right on his face. It looks cruel and demented. "Oh, we can help." We? "We can help you take your uncle's throne, take his blood. We can help you take anything you desire."

Nikkabrik's nasty grin widens, and he can no doubt see that the prince is tempted by his offer. How can he resist? This is all that he has ever wanted, and Nikkabrik is ready to practically hand it to him on a silver platter. He can dethrone his uncle; he can be King.

Nikkabrik slowly disappears down one of the side branches of the tunnel, obviously expecting Caspian to follow. Caspian hesitates for a moment, glancing at the carvings on the wall of the Kings and Queens of Old one last time. A seed of misgiving grows in his stomach. Is he betraying them by going behind their backs? But despite his fleeting doubts, Caspian once again turns away and trails after Nikkabrik down the passage.

The tunnel leads the two of them into the room where the cracked Stone Table is located from the side of the large room, opposite of the main entrance. They pass behind the great stone arch, and Caspian cannot help but look up at the engraving of Aslan. Cold, lifeless eyes stare back and Caspian turns away feeling slightly unnerved, looking back at Nikkabrik who is speaking again.

"You tried one ancient power; they failed. But there are other powers older and greater. You just have to be willing to use them."

Caspian looks around, suddenly hyper-alert as he hears heavy breathing nearby. He steps forward and draws his sword from its sheath. "Who's there?" he demands, and two figures seem to melt from the walls themselves, becoming corporeal.

A limping figure answers in a deep, rasping voice, "I am hunger. I am thirst. I can fast a hundred years and not die. I can lie a hundred nights on the ice and not freeze." The voice gives him an uneasy feeling and he starts to think that maybe this wasn't the best idea.

The two figures move closer and Caspian sees that the speaker has a hairy, spittle-ridden snout and is covered by a cloak, while its companion seems to be an old woman of some kind with a beak for a nose.

"I can drink a river of blood and not burst," it continues, "show… me… your… enemies!"

Caspian jumps in surprise and shudders when the figure throws back his cloak with a vicious snarl, revealing the fierce head of a Werewulf. The old woman—a Hag, his mind whispers—approaches in a mockingly reverent manner. "What you hate, so will we. No one hates better than us."

Although the deepest parts of his soul are screaming to turn away, to not listen to the foul creatures, Caspian's roaring anger overcomes them. Miraz killed his father, killed his Narnian friends; he deserves to die and Caspian does not care how it happens, as long as it gets done. "And you can guarantee Miraz's death?"

"And more," croons the Hag, bowing slightly. In his mind's eye, Caspian sees flashes of what could be: himself on the Narnian throne, Miraz dead, the Telemarines forced to keep peace with Narnia, Peter, kneeling, forced to acknowledge his power and authority.

Another picture flashes through his mind: Queen Lucy crying, King Edmund staring at him in disbelief and disgust, Susan looking at him with the utmost disappointment before turning her back on him—but his mind is distracted as the Hag orders a circle to be drawn. The Werewulf drags a claw through the dirt, circling Caspian like a vulture as the Hag chants words in some sort of other language that makes Caspian's ears hurt. Nikkabrik watches silently, his eyes glinting wickedly, looking excited.

The chant rises to a louder volume and Caspian's eyes widen as the Hag withdraws a wand from her cloak, the end splint and jagged. It looks familiar, as if he has seen it in a drawing of some sort. Before he can say anything, the Hag slams the wand into the ground of the stone steps that lead up to the archway. An icy chill fills the air as ice spreads from the wand up the steps and over the stone arch. As a wall of ice climbs up between the pillars, Caspian feels as though he is standing outside in the middle of an ice-cold winter.

But it is the figure that chills his very soul. His anger goes cold, his self-hatred flees, and all thoughts of revenge disappear. What remains is fear; ice cold fear so strong that it feels as though it could easily swallow him whole, because She is here, her, the epitome of everything dark, and cold, and evil.

She is supposed to be long gone, but she isn't, not anymore. Because here, right before his eyes and floating in a prison of ice, is who can only be Jadis, the White Witch.

The complete and utter horror Caspian feels at the sight turns his stomach. What have I done?

oOoOoOo

Peter is sulking when it happens. Much like Caspian, Peter Pevensie, High King of Narnia, has become a slave to his thoughts, unable to stop the images of the battle at the castle from playing through his mind. He is supposed to be sleeping as Susan has told him after the long day, but no matter how hard he tries, he can't bring himself to slumber, not when all the dark memories of fear and bloodshed play themselves over and over behind his eyelids each time he dares to close his eyes. He doesn't want to dwell on the failure that he knows is no one's fault but his, yet he finds himself able to think of nothing else. That is why he is extremely thankful and relieved when a Hound bursts in the room looking as though he is bearing important news, distracting the King from his thoughts.

That is, before the Hound opens his mouth and Peter hears what he has to say.

"Your Majesty, your Majesty! Ye must come quickly!"

Peter turns to face the Hound, whose name he is fairly positive is Dijdevn. The Hound's nose is twitching, a sure sign that he has smelled something off, and his black opal eyes are very alert, alight with panic. His head is raised high while his front paws claw anxiously at the ground.

"Yes?" Peter asks, trying to remain calm despite the Hound's foreboding demeanor. "What is so important that it would have you disturb me so?" He lets a hint of annoyance creep into his tone, making it clear that he would rather be left alone, but without being downright rude about it.

"It is a Werewulf, my King! It has breached the boundaries and has made it inside the How!" Dijdevn exclaims urgently.

Peter's eyes widen and he, like the Hound, is instantly alert. His right hand flies to his side where his sword is sheathed without even realizing what he is doing. "Where? Have you seen it?" he demands. If a Werewulf has breached their boundaries, that is not good. Their army is smaller after the disastrous raid; if a Werewulf can get through their defenses, what is stopping any other monstrous creatures from attacking?

"No, your Majesty, I has not, but I has smelled it. Near the Stone Table, sir."

And that's all it takes, for Hounds can smell out nearly anything; their noses are never wrong. If Dijdevn says he has smelt a Werewulf in the How, then he has done exactly that. Without even stopping to think about it, Peter draws his sword, ready to go after the foul beast.

"Dijdevn," he calls back to the Hound, "find Trumpkin the Dwarf and tell him of the Werewulf. Make sure he warns my brother and sisters."

Without looking back at Dijdevn, he rushes out of the door, holding Rhindon in front of him as he weaves his way through the passageways, desperate to find the tunnel that leads to the Stone Table room. After about five minutes of endless searching Peter is getting really frustrated when finally he finds the correct passage. He runs down it and raises Rhindon up high. He is nearing the door, about halfway there, when suddenly someone grabs him from behind, stilling him.

"What do you think you're doing?!" hisses a voice that the High King immediately recognizes as Edmund's. He turns around to face his brother and is met not with just one incredulous face, but also the incredulous faces of his sisters. Susan and Lucy stand somewhat behind Edmund, Susan with her bow strapped to her back and Lucy with her dagger poised high. Trumpkin hovers behind Lucy. They have definitely gotten the message about the Werewulf, though it is a bit sooner than he has hoped.

"What is wrong with you?" is the first thing to come out of Edmund's mouth. "Were you really going to go charging after the Werewulf by yourself?"

"I've got it handled!" These words only seem to make Edmund angrier, but Peter can't really bring himself to care. What is his brother's problem?! He doesn't need a babysitter; he can handle a Werewulf alone. He's High King! Why can't Edmund just listen to him for once?!

"And when you get killed because you are too prideful to just ask for back up?" Edmund seethes. "Will you have it 'handled' then?"

"I'm not going to get killed!" Peter yells, exasperated. "Because, as I've already told you, I've got. It. Handled! I don't need your bloody help!"

Anger is coursing through Peter's veins and he's so wrapped up in his current rage that he doesn't notice Edmund's stung look, nor does he register Susan's stunned face. Edmund opens his mouth no doubt to shout something else that is equally infuriating at him, but is cut off when Lucy yells shrilly, "Stop! All this arguing isn't helping!"

Everyone turns to face Lucy, who is glaring fiercely at them all. Peter knows she is deadly serious, because the youthful Valiant Queen rarely glares or gets angry at anyone.

Edmund is the first to recover. "Lucy's right, this isn't helping," he says, and then turns to Lucy. "Sorry, Lu. Forgive me?"

She gives him a small smile and nods. "It's alright. Now come on! We're wasting time!" With that, all four of them run through the door of the Stone Table room. Peter holds his sword high, ready for an attack.

Dashing into the room, Peter grows cold. The temperature has dropped several degrees and is now below freezing, all caused by the wall of ice now between the pillars of the stone archway. Impossibly, the cold, nightmarish face that Peter thought he would never see again is frozen in the ice, her intense eyes locked on Caspian, beckoning him forward. The prince himself is still, sword hanging uselessly at his side as he reaches his bloodied hand out toward the Witch who is also reaching toward him, looking almost as though he is in a trance. A circle has been drawn around him in the dirt, and three figures stand off to the side, watching excitedly; the Werewulf Dijdevn warned him about, a Hag, and—wait a second—was that Nikkabrik?! Why, that little traitor!

Peter rushes toward Caspian, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Edmund snap out of the shock that the sight of the Witch no doubt put him in, and now Edmund races beside him, pulling out his sword while running, Trumpkin close behind him, along with the girls. The Werewulf is growling as it jumps atop the broken Stone Table, snarling at them. It jumps through the air over their heads and Edmund's sword whips through the air a second too late as the Werewulf lands behind them, blocking the entrance and leaving no way for the two kings to reach their sisters.

Nikkabrik and the Hag immediately attack as well, and Edmund faces off against the Werewulf as Peter is forced to turn his attention to the Hag as she attacks him. He can hear the clang of Trumpkin and Nikkabrik's swords close by. No doubt the Dwarf took Nikkabrik's betrayal as a personal insult.

Peter swings Rhindon at the Hag, but she anticipates this move and blocks it with her knife, the metals clanging against each other as she twists it downward so his blade bangs against the Stone Table, almost causing him to lose his grip on the hilt. A few feet away, Edmund's battle isn't going much better; Peter sees the Werewulf flip him over as he stabs it in the side, but he has no time to see if his brother is alright, for he is distracted by a cry from Lucy, who has her arm twisted behind her back by Nikkabrik.

Peter, trying to gain his bearings from the Hag's assault on him, tries to scramble up in time to reach his sister who lies helpless under Nikkabrik's blade. But Trumkin gets there first, coming up behind the unsuspecting Dwarf and stabbing him in the back, killing him instantly. One crisis adverted, Peter turns his attention back to Caspian who is nearing the White Witch still, his eyes clouded over and unfocused. He bolts over to them, slamming into Caspian from the side and sending him tumbling to the ground, so he is now facing off with Jadis, instead of the ignorant prince.

"Get away from him!" he yells, sword held high and ready to run her through. Jadis' hand, which had been reaching for Caspian's, retracts slightly as a momentary frown crosses her face before being replaced by a seemingly-friendly smile.

"Peter, dear," she says, smiling at him warmly, her voice like the smoothest silk, "I've missed you." Her hand pushes farther out of the ice, now reaching toward him. "Come, just one drop," she beckons. Peter's sword wavers, and he suddenly feels uncertain. Her voice is heavenly, melodic, and he feels mesmerized. She's drawing him in, like a moth to a flame. He's not sure of anything except that if she stops talking, then terrible things will happen.

What is it he was going to do? Run her through with his sword? It's so hard to remember… But why would he want to do that? Why would he want to hurt the owner of this beautiful voice, to end this woman who tempts him so? He wants to please her, to be worthy of her, and he knows he will do whatever she asks of him… but will it be enough?

"You know you can't do this alone," she practically purrs, and on some inner level, rationality tells him that of course this isn't true. He has Susan, Edmund, Lucy, and the whole of Narnia by his side. But by this time all rationality has fled him, leaving him defenseless against her persuasive words. She's right; he can't do this alone. He has failed; failed his family, failed himself, failed Aslan. He needs help. And she can give it to him.

Feeling all the resolve, all the fight, leak out of him, he lowers Rhindon back to his side and inches toward the Witch, not even noticing that somehow the Hag had managed to cut his hand with her knife without him noticing. He hesitantly raises his bloody palm outward toward her, and to the right of him Caspian stands and does the same.

"Take my hand, boys." The excitement in her voice is blatantly obvious as she reaches for them, her arm now nearly completely out of the ice. "Just one drop and I'm yours."

For a moment it seems as if the boys will break away, but then they each step forward. Still staring into her eyes, they hold their hands—each covered in blood—out to meet the Witch's. They are just inches away, their feet still within the circle. They are reaching, reaching…

"NO!"

Peter hears Edmund's desperate, frantic cry as he realizes what they are doing and speeds towards them, but Peter pays it no mind and neither does Caspian as their hands make contact with the White Witch's.

A cruel smile stretches its way across the Witch's face as the boys' blood meets her hand. The ice around her seems to crack and then, with a flash of blinding white light, the wall of ice breaks, shattering into millions of little shards. As the ice flies through the air in all directions everyone is forced to duck, hiding their head in their hands to avoid getting hit.

The ice seems to fall for hours when really it is only just seconds. When the pieces stop raining down on them, Peter warily removes his hands. His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the sight before him: the White Witch standing before them, flesh and blood once more. In her hand is her ice wand that was previously in the ground, now in perfectly one piece, and she wears her dress of the purest white. Everything is completely quiet, everyone stunned into silence. Even the air seems to cower.

Edmund has completely frozen in his spot where he is about a few feet behind Peter, and he stares up at Jadis with a kind of fascinated horror. "What have you done?" he breathes, his horror-struck voice barely above a whisper. Peter isn't sure who the question is directed at: him, Caspian, or Jadis herself, but whoever the words are meant for, they make him reel back in shock, feeling as though someone has doused him in ice water. The haze that had clouded his mind is now gone, leaving nothing behind but absolute horror, guilt, and self-loathing for what he has now done. One glance at Caspian, and the king can tell he feels the same.

Peter and Caspian stand directly before the White Witch who smiles at them, all fake sweetness gone and replaced by a look of triumph and utter hatred. The two of them stumble backwards, Peter bringing up his sword and Caspian reaching to unsheathe his. From behind them, Edmund raises his as well, though Peter can see that his hands are shaking.

"Now, now, boys, none of that." The Witch's voice drips in false caring and even though he has snapped out of the trance she put him in, he still can't help being slightly swayed by her words. He has long ago forgiven Edmund for betraying them to Jadis, but he has never before now understood how, why, he could do such a thing. But now as he listens to her spin her words, twisting her tempting promises into something that seems to be truth, he understands how Edmund must have fell for her tricks, believing every lie that passed her lips. Even now, Peter has a hard time remembering that she is the enemy, that she seeks nothing but the deaths of him and his siblings.

"After all, it was the two of you who saved me," she continues, and her truthful words are like a knife to the heart because now she lives, and he did that, he did it.

She waves her wand almost lazily, and his and Caspian's swords fly out of their hands, clattering to the ground at the Witch's feet. Guilt and fear battle for dominance inside Peter as he realizes he now stands helpless in front of Jadis, hopelessly at her mercy. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter sees Trumpkin push Lucy behind him, protecting her. He can't see Susan, and she has been absent from the action since they entered the room, and he hopes that no harm has befallen her. He hears an intake of breath from behind him and suddenly Edmund has made his way forward so he is standing between Peter and Caspian, and the Witch, guarding them just as Trumpkin is guarding Lucy.

"Ed, no!" Peter hisses, his eyes wide and locked on his brother. "Get back!"

Edmund's face is stark white with fear, and it is obviously taking a lot of courage and strength for him to willingly place himself before the Witch, yet he still does so, and now pure fear runs through Peter's veins, not for himself, but for his brother who is willingly putting his life on the line in order to protect his.

Edmund predictably ignores his pleas—"why can't you ever just do as you're told?!"—keeping his place of standing protectively between Jadis and Peter. Peter feels the weight of what he and Caspian just did pressing down on him. How could he be so stupid? What had come over him, over both of them? Peter isn't quite sure, but the numb, peaceful feeling of standing before the ice queen still remains, and his shame grows even greater.

The Witch meets Edmund's eyes and the sadistic smile on her face grows even more, though her eyes remain as cold as the ice she was encased in. Peter can see Edmund's fearful expression reflected in her icy orbs, and Peter wants more than anything to tell his brother that this is just a nightmare. He wants to hold him and tell him it's just a dream, like he used to when he would be woken in the night to Edmund's terrified screams, only he can't this time because this time it's real; she's real.

"Edmund," she purrs, her voice like tinkling crystals, "how long it has been."

"Not nearly long enough," he replies curtly, holding his sword out. Peter is impressed by how controlled his brother's voice sounds, without even the slightest tremor, even though he is very clearly petrified.

Jadis' smile falters for a fraction of a second, seeming surprised that he is standing up against her, but it is only for a moment. "Now, Edmund, don't be like that," she says, "after all, we have such… history."

Peter doesn't like the way she speaks of her and Edmund's 'history', of his time imprisoned by her. It's almost mocking, as though she is taunting him, trying to cut him with her words. Edmund doesn't seem to like this either, judging by the way he stiffens, his eyes going cold, almost as cold as the ice queen herself.

"And that's all it is," he tells her with a sort of finality that only he can manage, "history."

Jadis presses her lips together, but otherwise appears to have no reaction to his words. "Maybe so," she admits, "but you'll be surprised by what a large part the past plays in the present. It cannot be forgiven or forgotten."

Her words give Peter a foreboding feeling, and he sees a flicker of something undistinguishable—uncertainty? Guilt? - flash through Edmund's shadowed eyes before they are once again indifferent.

"It doesn't matter!" comes Lucy's voice from behind them. "Aslan defeated you once—he'll do it again!" Her voice is fierce and determined, showing that she has no doubt about her words. Trumpkin gives her a look that is obviously meant to shut her up, and Peter can't help but agree with the Dwarf. Does she have a death wish?!

The Witch laughs, high and cruel, sending shivers up Peter's spine. "Aslan?" she repeats disbelievingly. "I don't see him around anywhere," she says, pretending to look around as if the Great Lion would suddenly just appear. "Do you?"

Edmund's face is stony, making it impossible for Peter to tell what he is thinking. Lucy raises her chin defiantly, and still no doubt crosses her features at Jadis' words. Her faith in Aslan is absolute, while his is nothing but. It pains him to see his sister's faith in Him, because he knows how heartbroken she will be when that faith in Him is proven false. After all, he thinks, if Aslan truly does care then He would be here now, and He would have stopped all those deaths. His faith in the Lion has been broken. He's not sure when he realized this, but he knows it started the day the four of them tumbled out of the Wardrobe, stuck in the bodies of their younger selves.

And Aslan did that. He tore them away from Narnia, away from their home.

"Face it, young one," the Witch continues speaking to Lucy, "you are alone. The Great Lion you cherish above all else has abandoned you, child."

"No," Lucy says, "He'll never be gone. Not as long as those who remain are loyal to Him."

Peter flinches at her choice of words.

Jadis' eyes flare, Lucy's words seeming to fuel the fire of her fury until it reaches the boiling point. Edmund seems to realize this first as he steps back to stand in front of Lu instead of Peter and Caspian.

"Leave her alone," he growls

Jadis regards Edmund as nothing but a minor annoyance as she flicks her wand in his direction and he is thrown away from Lucy through the empty air, hitting the stone wall with a surprised yelp and a sickening crack before sliding down to the ground where he lay in a crumpled heap, unmoving.

"Ed!" The scream tears painfully from Peter's throat as his brother's skull hits the wall with a loud crack. He lays on the ground without a movement, and if it isn't for the slow, slight rise and fall of his chest, Peter would think he is dead. He stares at Edmund's still form like someone caught in a dream, because this can't be happening, it just can't.

In the second she knocks aside Edmund she has knocked aside Trumpkin as well, and she now holds Lucy up by the neck as the young Valiant Queen struggles in her grasp, clawing futilely at Jadis' fingers around her neck, gasping for breath.

"Who are you to speak to me in such a way, little girl?" she hisses. Peter runs and grasps Rhindon who was still on the ground and scrambles over to Lucy and the Witch. To the left he finally catches sight of Susan who looks utterly panicked, her bow out and an arrow pulled back, ready to fire. But in less time than it takes to blink, the Witch has her wand pressed into Lucy's neck, making both Susan and Peter freeze in their tracks.

"I can kill her in less time it takes you to even think about it," she warns, her voice deadly as she eyes Peter's raised sword and Susan's bow. And Peter knows she's not bluffing; she will do it, and she wouldn't even think twice.

Slowly, oh so very slowly, Susan and Peter lower their weapons. Lucy's face is now turning blue from lack of oxygen, and Jadis allows her grip to slacken some.

"She'll be with her beloved Lion soon," says the Witch, looking over at Lucy's terrified face, "where she belongs." She then looks at Susan, Caspian, and Peter each in turn. "You have until after the sun sets tomorrow to find me and surrender your army," she tells them. She digs her nails into the skin of Lucy's neck, making her cry out in pain. "Or your Valiant Queen dies."

For a moment she herself seems to shimmer, as if she stands underwater. Then she vanishes on the spot, taking Lucy with her.

oOoOoOo

Susan's bow falls from her violently shaking hands as she finds herself no longer able to shoulder its weight. It hits the stone ground with a loud clatter that echoes loudly in the dense silence that has enveloped the room. Caspian's eyes are wide and horrified, while Peter's still stare vacantly at the place where Lucy last stood, as if expecting her to reappear at any moment and yell, 'Gotcha!' The Gentle Queen finds herself unable to tear her eyes away either, and a sudden surge of dizziness sweeps over her that threatens to send her following her bow to the ground. The panic of the situation that Caspian and Peter have landed them in doesn't seem to register, and she just feels an aching numbness spread throughout her, because all she can possibly comprehend at that moment is that Lu... that Lucy...

You have until after the sun sets tomorrow to surrender your army. Or your Valiant Queen dies.

Or your Valiant Queen dies.

Knees shaking, eyes stinging, Susan stumbles backwards, bringing up a hand to cover her mouth in despair. Lucy. Lucy Lucy Lucy Lucy. It's a mantra, like a record stuck on replay, each word resulting in a sharp pain in her chest. Her back hits something hard—she has backed herself up against the wall—and she slides down it, slumping in on herself, her knees pulled up to her chest.

Tears spill down her porcelain cheeks. "Lucy…" she whispers brokenly, muffling a sob that rises up in her throat.

Across the room, Peter's eyes widen and he suddenly looks very attentive. "Edmund!" he exclaims in realization, worry and fear coating the one word as he instantly drops his sword and rushes across the stone chamber toward their fallen brother.

Susan gasps through her tears, watching through blurry eyes as Peter kneels beside Edmund, pressing his fingers to the side of his neck (which is bloodied from the hard hit he took to the back of his head) to check for a pulse. How could she have been so horrible as to forget about Edmund?

"Is—Is he-?" Her breath is ragged as she speaks to Peter, unable to speak the words out loud. Her youngest sibling has been taken captive by Jadis; if anything has happened to Edmund as well she just couldn't bear it-!

"He's alive," Peter says, and even from across the room she can hear the relief in his voice. But Susan's worry for her youngest brother only grows at Peter's answer. He's alive. But that makes it sound as if...

"Is he hurt?" she presses him, and he nods, his face grim.

"He hit the wall rather hard. It's possible he has a concussion."

Susan stifles a moan behind her hand.

"Could we not use Queen Lucy's cordial on His Magesty?" comes a gruff voice from Susan's left. She jumps in surprise, and both Caspian and Peter both look startled, all of them having forgot that Trumpkin is even still in the room.

"Huh?" Peter repeats distractedly, still staring down at Edmund, who Susan can now see has a rather nasty looking wound on the back of his head where it hit the wall. If she looks closely enough she can see that his hair is thickly matted with blood. She looks to Peter, hoping that he will have a positive answer to Trumpkin's question, that, yes, they can use the cordial to heal Edmund, but to her dismay, the elder king shakes his head. "No, unfortunately not. Lucy never lets that cordial out of her sight; she always has it on her, which means that she'll of had it on her when…" When she was taken.

Peter can't even stomach saying the words, and Susan doesn't blame him. The thought of innocent Lucy in the grasp of that monster makes her want to sick up.

"Will he be alright?" Caspian asks, finally shaken somewhat out of his frozen stupor.

Peter's eyes are locked on Edmund as he smoothes back the matted hair from the boy's forehead. "I don't know," he whispers, eyes filled with so much guilt that Susan can hardly stand to look. He doesn't seem to realize it is Caspian who has spoken, for when he does, his head snaps up in the direction of the prince, the guilt in his eyes replaced by something else: anger.

"You did this," he snarls, abruptly standing up and clutching the hilt of his sword at his side, his knuckles white. "This is all your fault!"

Caspian seems stunned by the hateful words, and so is Susan, for this is not the Peter she knows. This Peter is hateful and bitter and raging, and at that moment she can hardly recognize him.

Caspian's eyes are filled with both guilt and anger at the High King's words. "My fault?!" he exclaims incredulously. "How am I any more to blame for this than you, Your Majesty?"

The words are a mockery, and blue eyes flare in response. "You called up the Witch! You released her!"

"So did YOU!" Caspian yells loudly, but Peter acts as if he hasn't spoken.

"You say you grew up hearing all sorts of stories about Narnia and the hundred year winter, and of the Witch's rein over Narnia; did it perhaps occur to you that releasing Jadis would be bad?! Now you've put the whole of Narnia in danger, and why?! Just for your own selfish needs and desire for power!"

"Oh, you are so full of it!" Caspian yells. "My desire for power? Look at you! You sent our army into a slaughter just because you wanted to relive your glory days! You, King Peter, are the most arrogant, presumptuous, conceited, selfish—"

Each of them is now facing off against each other in the middle of the room, their voices deafening. Susan sees Edmund's eyes flutter open as he lets out a groan of pain, trying to curl in on himself. Neither of the boys notices.

"SHUT UP!"

They both freeze and fall silent, swiveling to look in the direction the yell came from. Susan's breathing is ragged and her chest is heaving. Angry tears fill her eyes and spill down her cheeks. She has never felt so angry at anyone in her entire life.

Sending them a glare and allowing Peter to see the disappointment she feels at him for not noticing their brother's awakening, she rushes over to him, sitting crisscross on the ground and carefully lifting up Edmund's head so it is settled in her lap. She looks up at Peter. "Can't you see he's hurt?" she says scathingly.

Edmund lets out another moan, eyes squeezed shut tight against the pain as he twists his head to the side.

"Shh, shh," Susan soothes him, stroking his hair gently. "You're alright." The action brings her a strange sense of déjà vu, remembering all the times she soothed her brother like this after a nightmare.

Edmund manages to open his eyes a slant. "Susan?"

"Yes, it's me, Ed. I'm here; you're alright, I promise," she reassures.

He blinks a few times. "What—what happened?"

Susan bites her bottom lip, glancing up at Peter who's looking at Edmund with a pained look on his face. "You—you were knocked out," she tells him.

Edmund's dark eyes go wide as realization seems to strike him. "The Witch!" he exclaims. He bolts upright too fast, causing him to sway back and forward, having to grip onto Susan to stay upright. "The Witch—she was—and Lucy—"

He's making no sense, his sentences scrambled as he looks wildly around. "Where's Lucy?!" he asks urgently.

Susan sighs, squeezing her eyes shut tight. "Edmund, she's—she's gone."

"Gone?" he echoes, panic growing. "What do you mean she's gone? You mean that—that Jadis—"

"Yes." Her voice is merely a whisper, but he hears it nonetheless.

"No," he says. "No no no no no. Lucy… oh Aslan, no…"

"I'm sorry," says Peter, his voice croaky, interrupting Edmund's mantra of denial. "I—I'm so sorry, Ed. If I hadn't…" he trails off, eyes downcast.

Edmund raises his head slowly, looking at Peter with a new sort of clarity. "You. You released the Witch." His eyes are pained, and he now looks at Peter as though he can't believe what he's seeing. "How could you, Peter?"

"I—I didn't mean—"

"After everything she's done, to you, to the girls, to me. How could you?"

Peter's eyes are suspiciously moist when he speaks again. "Edmund, please, let me explain! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I never meant for any of this to happen, please, you have got to believe me."

Edmund closes his eyes, face turned downward. "I trusted you," he says.

Peter looks as though Edmund has just struck him.

"Su, help me up, please," says Edmund. "I need to get out of here. I can't even look at him."

Peter flinches. Susan reluctantly helps Edmund stand up, wincing. In her opinion, after the way Peter has been acting, the words were well deserved, if a little harsh.

Edmund picks up his sword and steadies himself against the wall before making toward the exit. When he passes him, Peter grabs his arm. "Ed, wait—" he appeals, but Edmund wrenches free, exiting the room and turning the corner. Peter makes to go after him, but Susan quickly comes up behind him, putting a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Don't. He needs to be alone."

oOoOoOo

Edmund walks through the twisting passageways of the How, his breathing hard, his fists clenched, nails digging into his skin. He isn't sure how far he has walked when he finally slows to a stop, torn between crying or screaming. He closes his eyes and tries to calm himself down, taking slow breaths. He forces his unyielding hands to unclench, and winces when he sees that his palms are bleeding slightly from small half-moon marks he has dug into his skin. His anger is ebbing away now, and he internally winces, remembering his harsh words to Peter.

I trusted you.

I can't even look at him.

He sags against the stone wall, regretting his words. Most of them aren't even true. Did he trust Peter? Yes. Does he still trust Peter? Despite everything he's done? Despite the disasterous raid, and the freeing of the Witch?

Does he?

The answer comes almost immediately:

Yes. With my life.

Edmund knows it is wrong to be mad at Peter for succumbing to the Witch, for giving into temptation. After all, has he not done the same thing, once upon a time? He has no right to hold it over his brother when he once fell for her tricks as well, and yet...

When he betrayed his siblings, given over their location to Jadis, he hadn't known. He was a mere-ten year old boy, and had no idea that the Witch wasn't who she said to be, had no way of knowing that she was looking to slaughter them. He had a guilty, heavy feeling in his stomach, especially when Lucy told him of the White Witch, who calls herself the Queen of Narnia ("But she really isn't," he remembers her saying), but other than that, he had no idea of the extent of her evil, not until he had left the Beavers' dam in search of her palace.

But Peter knows. He knows her evil, her cruelty; he saw her ruthlessness during Beruna, saw her drive her wand through his gut. He knows of the bruises and whip marks Edmund had after being rescued from her camp. He was the one that would always comfort him when Edmund woke up screaming from terrifying nightmares of Her. Peter still remains the only one that Edmund has told of his stay with Jadis, the only one who knows of the extent of his injuries that she inflicted on him.

Peter was the one that after waking him from a nightmare would always reassure him that the Witch was dead and couldn't return.

Ironic isn't that that he's the one who brought her back?

Edmund sinks to the floor, despairing, his eyes squeezed shut as flashes of things long forgiven pass before his eyelids.

Ice cold dungeons… the snap of the whip… the sting of a hand delivering the hard blow across his face... tight ropes cutting off his circulation, holding him, restraining him… stony eyes bearing into his like twin blades, seeming to freeze the blood in his veins…

He skews his eyes shut, pressing his hands to his head in order to stop the evasion of memories, only to feel something sticky. Pulling his hands back, he sees they are covered in blood, only then realizing that his head is aching from his wound. He slowly reaches up to feel it, and then grimaces as he's hit with a whole new wave of pain. He'll have to get that fixed up soon, he knows.

His head is throbbing now and the memories are coming faster now, flashing before his eyes before he can even register them. He sees glimpses of stone, and snow, and ice, and remembers the cold, and the pain and regret. He no longer has nightmares every night of his time as the White Witch's prisoner, but they still haven't faded completely. Every once in a blue moon he still wakes up screaming, shaking after another dream of his imprisonment with her, or even worse, of his siblings' deaths at her hands. Out of all his siblings, he has always been the one to have nightmares the most frequently, even before Narnia, though now they are much worse. It was very embarrassing really, to have Peter shake him awake, or when Susan would have to soothe them. During the years they lived at Cair Paravel, he had often woke with his siblings sleeping around him, the night after another awful nightmare.

The Witch. Jadis. She has always been the center of his nightmares. And now she is back, the one person whom he hates, fears, more than any other, is back. And what is even worse, she has Lucy.

Edmund knows his siblings must be going crazy, worrying what's happening to Lucy; and with good reason. But none of them—Peter, Susan, Caspian—none of them understands the horrific reality of the situation; not really, not like he does. They don't know the kind of pain that Jadis inflicts on her prisoners—haven't seen the way she enjoys it. But he has; he's seen it, he's experienced it, and he has the scars to prove it. And to think of it happening to dear, sweet, innocent Lucy... it about tears his heart in two.

He feels lost, helpless, and he hates it. He wants to punch something, he wants to scream, he wants to do anything, as long as he's doing something, but he knows none of it will help. So instead he allows himself to slide down the wall onto the dirty ground, pulling his knnes up to his chest much like Susan did earlier. His arms folded across his knees, he buries his face in them, thinking of Lucy and her golden hair, and bright smile, and bubbly personality. He wonders where she is now, and what the Witch plans to do with her.

Aslan, please keep her safe.

And there you have it, that's the end of chapter 1! I hope you are interested in it, and are curious of what happens next, such as what's going to happen to Lucy. I've never written a Narnia fic before, so I hope everyone's in character. Constructive criticism is welcome, but please no flames.

Last of all, please review! It's not asking much, and don't be afraid to tell me what you think, since I love long reviews (but really, I like any kind of reviews, even if your just telling me my story is good, or just urging me to update).

Ciao!

-Phoenix(: