Suffer With Him
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in this story! Everything in it is the property of C.S. Lewis. All I am doing it playing with the characters to satisfy my very vivid imagination. (kicks a plot bunny out of her apartment)
Summary: Written for my friend Gwenneth, who was in a bad mood and requested some Peter/Edmund abuse. She provided the plot and I wrote it. (Yes, we're disturbed individuals.) Tragedy strikes at Cair Paravel, and now the guilt will haunt him forever. Character death.
Rating: M
Timeline: Set after The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. In the early years of the Pevensies' reign. Major AU!!
"When a good man is hurt, all who would be called good must suffer with him."
-Euripides
His world would never again be bright. All the sunlight and laughter had been taken from him in that one moment…a moment that he would never be able to put out of his mind. How could he? It was all his fault, after all.
His face…his eyes…they would haunt him forever. His words, whispered so softly, so full of pain…why, oh, Aslan, why? He couldn't take it. All he heard now were those words.
"Don't…don't cry for me. It…it…wa…wasn't…your…f...f..."
He clapped his hands over his ears, trying to block out those words, those memories…the looks on his sisters' faces. He didn't blame them. He blamed himself. He had been careless, stupid…showing off. He knew better.
Susan…Lucy…oh, Aslan…I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. I really didn't.
He sat in his room. Looking at his things. Things that he would never use again. He'd never walk through those doors again, tired after a long day at court. He'd never laugh again, his bright smile lighting up the room and bringing a smile to everyone's faces.
A sunny day…too bright…too painful. It shouldn't be this bright. Not on this day. It should be dark, and overcast…with the rain pouring down in sheets, echoing the tears in his soul. It seemed almost wrong, that this day should be full of light and birdsong, even if he would have wanted it that way.
He didn't bother to choke back his tears as the memories crashed over him. What was the point? He wasn't there anymore to wipe them away. His lightly callused hand would never cup his cheek, his strong fingers brush the tears away while his soft voice murmured soothing words before cracking a joke to make him laugh.
He lay there, draped in the ceremonial robes as befitted one of his status. His sword lay lightly clasped in his hands, which were crossed over his chest. There was no sign of the wound, no evidence to show who had robbed him of his life. It didn't matter…everyone already knew. He could feel the stares on his back, the eyes boring into him, demanding to know "How could you do this to him?"
What was worse, though, were the expressions on his sisters' faces. They tried hard not to condemn him, not to push him away, but their eyes said it all, making a lie of the words of comfort that they tried to offer. He couldn't bear to see the veiled accusations, to hear the whispers that followed him everywhere he went. So he had retreated here, to his room. A place he really had no right to be, yet a place where he needed to be.
The gentle features, once so full of life, were still and slack, and though the expression was one of peace, it tore at his heart to have to stand there and stare down at it while everyone paid their respects. Even if most of these folk had never met him, they all knew who he was, and they all knew what he had done for them. He was one of them now, after the battle with the White Witch, and he was their King. That was all they needed to know. That, and of course the face that his life had been stolen by one who should have treasured and protected it with his own.
He buried his head in his hands, lost in his own pain. The memories kept replaying themselves over and over in his mind. The taunting gesture, the challenge…the back and forth blows as they kept each other on their toes under Oreius' supervision.
The stumble…the misplaced timing…the swing…the desperate attempt to pull the blow…the thud of steel into flesh…the gasp of pain…
The red blood flowing from the wound like a small river…the moment where time seemed to stand still as his eyes locked on him…pain-filled…shocked…fading…
No…oh, Aslan…please no! Not again! he screamed to himself.
"Don't…don't cry for me. It…it…wa…wasn't…your…f...f…"
Two weeks and it was still as real as if it had happened yesterday…a minute ago…a second ago…at that very moment…
Two weeks ago…Cair Paravel training grounds…
"I think you are ready, Your Majesty. You've done remarkably well with the practice blades," Oreius said, watching as his King went through the forms. "You've proven that you can handle the blades, both in the forms and in combat."
"Thank you, Oreius," he replied, sheathing the blades and reaching up to wipe sweat from his brow as his brother brought him a goblet of ice-cold water. He smiled at his brother, pleased with his accomplishment, something that, thus far, his brother had not yet managed to master, although he was working on it.
"You're looking good," his brother stated with a warm smile on his face. "You're picking them up faster than I am."
"You'll get it soon enough," he said. "And you're still the better fighter overall, so that's all that matters."
"I don't know if I would say overall," his brother responded. "Susan still outclasses both of us with that bow of hers."
"You expected anything different?" he asked, and they laughed together, even drawing a small chuckle from the tall centaur who was instructing them.
He clenched his fists, wanting nothing more than to pound something. The blackest part of midnight couldn't even begin to compare to the darkness in his soul. That was the last time we laughed together…I just can't take this any more!
"I think you're ready to try a live steel match, Your Majesties. Arm up," Oreius stated suddenly.
They looked at the centaur incredulously. "You think so, Oreius?" his brother asked. "I mean, I'm not that good with the dual blades yet…"
"You'll each fight in your best style, my King," Oreius replied. "That way neither of you has too great an advantage over the other. Arm up."
They traded looks before shrugging and heading towards their respective benches where they had left their armor. The centaur often schooled them in live steel drills, so they always brought their armor with them, just in case, but this was the first time they would not be sparing under the same conditions. In all their previous matches they had been equally equipped in armor and weapons…now only the armor would be consistent between the two of them.
He shook his head. Oh, why didn't we just say no? It was obvious that we were both sweaty and tired…one of us was bound to make a mistake…
At first, they both played it cautiously, testing each others' strengths. After all, just because they were using live steel instead of the heavier wooden practice blades didn't mean that they were literally going to be dueling. This was still just a practice, after all.
But as they exchanged thrusts and parries, they both began to get more excited at the prospect of the combat, seeing the challenge in learning everything that Oreius was trying to teach them, wanting to see which style was the more effective. Wanting bragging rights when Susan and Lucy came home tomorrow from their visit to Owlwood, just northwest of Cair Paravel. It was still a good two days' ride however, and they weren't expected back until late tomorrow night.
And that was our first mistake. There was no need for Lucy to take her cordial with her. There was no danger, and they were going with a full contingent of centaur and faun guards, with one wolf who had been on our side during the battle to scout for them. If the cordial had been here…it wouldn't have happened.
As the match went on and neither of them were able to score a decisive blow that would end the match, they grew more and more reckless, taking more chances…pushed the limits of their skills, although they were still novices at best. But they were both obstinate, stupid fools.
Some kings we turned out to be…
And in an instant it had happened. Both of them were tired, but neither was willing to concede defeat. When added to their recklessness, it was a recipe for disaster.
His brother had lunged, sword thrust out before him, hoping to score the blow that would end it. He had danced nimbly out of the way, before moving back in as his brother moved to regain his balance. He had turned, bringing his sword around in a powerful, slashing blow that his brother had always been able to block with ease. He knew that it would be blocked, but he kept trying, hoping to sneak the attack in there and finally score on his brother with it.
But as he turned to face his brother, he saw him slip. The slip turned into a stumble, and his brother's armored chest plate separated just enough to leave an opening for his powerful blow to impact with his brother's side.
Frantically he tried to abort the attack, but his momentum was too great. He saw the wide-eyed look of panic and trepidation on his brother's face an instant before the edge of the blade slammed into his brother's side, right at the unprotected spot, caving in his side and causing the mail that he was wearing underneath to sink deeply into the wound, making it worse.
There was a split moment of silence before his brother let out the tiniest little breath. It was more of a gasp really, and it was filled with pain as the blood began to flow from beneath the damaged mail, coating his sword blade like a thick, red syrup.
His brother's gaze met his, and in those eyes was a world…nay, a universe of pain, regret, surprise, shock, weakness, and…surrender. That hurt more than anything.
He had yanked the blade back out of the wound, but it was too late.
His brother collapsed in a heap, sprawling to the ground like an arrow-shot duck.
"PETER!!"
He rose to his feet and walked over to the balcony door, slamming his fist into the frame as he passed, not caring about the pain that erupted in his knuckles or the blood that began to pool over his hand. What was his pain after all, compared to that of Peter's, as he lay there on that field, knowing that his own brother had just dealt him a death blow?
Edmund dropped to his knees, doffing his swords and his helmet in one motion as he gathered his brother into his arms. Peter lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath him, a creeping red lake that told the truth.
Oreius didn't wait for instructions. He launched himself towards the castle with a mighty lunge of his back legs, running for a healer with all the strength and speed that he could muster. They couldn't move Peter, not yet…
"Oh, Aslan…Peter, stay with me, dammit," Edmund swore at his brother as his fingers fumbled, trying to removed Peter's helmet. "Don't you dare die on me, Peter. Oreius has gone to get help. You just hang on, understand?" He tore a strip from his tunic and wadded it into a ball, pressing it against Peter's side, trying to stop the bleeding.
Peter coughed weakly and to Edmund's horror, his spittle was tinted with red. "Ed…'s'not your fault."
"Don't say good-bye, Peter. Stay with me!" Edmund begged as tears tracked down his dusty, sweaty face, leaving rivulets in the dirt and grime. "You're going to be fine. Oreius will bring a healer, we'll get you patched up and into bed and when Lucy gets home she'll give you her cordial and you'll be on your feet again in no time."
Peter closed his blue eyes, his face growing paler by the moment as the blood continued to drain from his body. "No…no time…Ed. Not…not going to…to make…make it." He forced his eyes open with an effort.
"Yes you are! You're High King Peter, the Magnificent. Aslan appointed you…you're not going to let him down by dying here," Edmund said in a fierce whisper. "Oh, god…Aslan! Aslan, if you can hear us, help us, please!" Edmund screamed, praying for a miracle in the form of the mighty lion.
Another cough wracked Peter and he tensed as pain tore through his body, radiating from the deep wound in his side. "You…you'll have to be the Magnificent one…Ed. Take care of…of Su and Lu." He coughed yet again, his voice growing weaker and the blood beginning to trickle out the corner of his mouth. "You…you're…High King…now."
"Goddammit, Peter! Don't you die on me! It's not your turn!" Edmund swore at his brother, clinging to him even tighter as he pressed the saturated wad of cloth deeper into the wound in an effort to stem the tide.
Peter's blue eyes met Edmund's dark ones and Edmund could see peace and acceptance in them. "I…I love…you…Ed. Give…" he swallowed hard, trying to bring some moisture back to his throat so he could get the words out. "Give…my…love to…to the girls…" Another swallow as his breaths grew weaker and shallower. "Don't…don't cry for me. It…it…wa…wasn't…your…f...f..."
Peter's breath caught in his throat as he shivered all over, struggling for breath. Then, in one moment, it was over.
His body went limp as the last bit of air was expelled from his lungs. His eyes went unfocused and distant.
"PETER! NO! ASLAN, NO!" Edmund screamed, not caring who might hear him. "PETER!"
But there was no answer from the limp, still…dead… form of his older brother.
Edmund pulled Peter more tightly into his arms, dropping his head so that his forehead touched Peter's, his tears falling from his eyes to land on Peter's cheek. He began to rock, cradling Peter to him, unable, unwilling to believe that he was dead.
Rapidly approaching hoofbeats went unnoticed until they were right on top of him. Oreius skidded to a halt, bracing his forelegs and nearly sitting on his haunches as he came to a stop, a Faun clinging to his back in an effort to stay on.
Both of them paused in shock at the sight that met their eyes and for a moment they could not move as the implications of what they saw sank in.
The Faun, whose name was Marnus, quickly knelt beside the two Kings and tried to extract Peter from Edmund's grasp. The younger King held on even more tightly, not wanting to let his brother go. Finally, with brute strength, Marnus managed to pry Edmund away and Oreius immediately stepped forward and pulled Edmund to his feet, tugging him away from Marnus as the Faun set to work.
It took only a matter of seconds, however, for Marnus to come to a realization. Peter was too still and there was too much blood pooled on the ground. If there was any doubt at all, the lack of a heartbeat and breath was enough to prove it. Bowing his head, he reached up and gently closed Peter's eyelids, before drawing his hand back to his chest and saluting his fallen King.
Oreius also bowed his head, paying his respects to one who he had promised to be with "to the death". A moment later, however, he had to reach forward and scoop Edmund up in his arms as the younger King burst into fresh howls of grief and collapsed.
It hadn't ended there. Oreius had borne Edmund back to his own chambers in the castle and instructed a group of servants to come out and remove the body of their fallen King and prepare him for burial.
Within a matter of minutes, whispers and rumors had spread through the castle like wildfire, every version of the tale told multiple times. Some sad that the two Kings had been ambushed by some last remnants of the Witch's forces and that King Peter had taken a fatal blow defending his younger sibling. Then there were those who said that jealousy had gotten the better of the younger two Kings and he had used the sparring match as a way to fabricate an "accident" that would take his brother off the throne for good. After all, hadn't he turned his coat once? Couldn't he do it again?
Somewhere in the middle of those two extremes, the truth eventually came out and silence fell over the castle. No one wanted anything to do with the younger King and did their best to avoid him in the following days.
A fast messenger was sent to Lucy and Susan with the dreadful news and the two Queens hurried home, praying that the message was wrong, that there was still time to administer the cordial, that it was all a mistake. They arrived, however, to find the castle and the surrounding area in full mourning. And when they heard the truth of the story…well, they too subtly shunned their brother. They tried their best to comfort him, but he could see it in their eyes.
Word spread quickly and preparations were made for a royal funeral, the first in over a century. Narnians from all over the land came, wanting to pay their final respects to their High King.
The remaining monarchs had collaborated and agreed that a period of one year would be appropriate for mourning their fallen King. Their own private mourning, however, would last forever.
Oh, Aslan…why? Why did it have to happen?Edmund wondered as he stepped onto the balcony, looking out at the sea. Why couldn't you have done something? You wanted Peter on the throne, not me…I was the reason you died, after all. I'm nothing but a screw-up. Peter was the good one, not the black sheep. He didn't betray his family for sweets…he always put us first, even at his own expense. Why couldn't it have been me, falling under that blade?
There was a very gentle tap on the door to Peter's chambers. At first, Edmund thought to ignore it. After all, these were Peter's rooms, not his. No one would expect to find him here.
"King Edmund?" a voice called.
Realizing that the person wasn't going to go away, Edmund reentered the room and crossed it. He didn't want to be around anyone right now. After all, no one wants to be around me, the murderous traitor.
He opened the door and looked out to see Marnus waiting outside the door. "King Edmund, your sisters have requested your presence in the throne room," the Faun said, meeting Edmund's eyes squarely. There was no blame or accusation in the Faun's eyes, to Edmund's surprise. That surprise was enough to make him nod, dully.
Edmund slowly trudged through the hallways of the grand palace until he reached the great hall. He entered by a side door and the first thing that he saw were the thrones. The four thrones of prophecy. That was almost enough to make him turn around and flee again. Because of him, one of those thrones would never again be filled.
Before he could turn and run, though, Lucy spotted him hovering in the doorway. "Ed, come here."
Edmund looked over at his sister and saw, to his surprise, a familiar form, and after a moment of utter shock, anger welled up in him and he stormed forward.
"YOU! WHY, DAMMIT! Why now, and not when I asked for you!" Edmund raged, striding right up to the new face, hands clenched into fists as he stopped himself from striking out.
"Edmund!" Lucy and Susan exclaimed as one, never having seen their brother like this before.
"NO! I want to know WHY!" Edmund raged, finally moving to lash out, only to see the familiar form dodge him easily so that the punch went wild. He sank to his knees, bursting into fresh tears as he buried his face in his hands and began to sob. There was a moment of silence before warm breath tickled the back of his neck, and something soft caressed his cheek and brush across his head and shoulders.
A low, rumbling voice spoke, and the deep tones resonated in Edmund's chest. "I am sorry, dear one. It is not my place to interfere in matters of this nature."
"Not your place?" Edmund managed through his tears, looking up into the warm golden eyes. "Why could you intercede for me and spare my life, but you couldn't save his? He was the better of the two of us, the more worthy. But no, you saved a traitor and a murderer, and you couldn't spare the one person who never did anything to hurt anyone if he could help it?"
Aslan shook his great golden head. "You are not unworthy, dear one, or I would never have placed you on the throne. You paid for your mistakes. You are as worthy now as your brother."
The great lion lowered his head and gently licked Edmund's cheek, drying the salty tears. "However, things have changed. There must be four on the thrones of prophecy, and clearly that is no longer the case."
Lucy and Susan's breaths caught. "What are you saying, Aslan?" Lucy asked. "Are we no longer to be Kings…er…King and Queens?"
"Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen of Narnia," Aslan repeated the words he had spoken at their coronation. "So, it seems I must needs remedy this situation. Where does your brother rest?"
"Out…out in the willow grove on the cliff," Susan replied.
Aslan nodded and turned to leave. Lucy and Susan started to follow him, but Aslan paused and shook his head. "Nay, dear ones. This is a journey that only your brother and I can make."
The two Queens paused and, after a moment, nodded. Edmund looked dully up at the great lion, not caring about anything. Aslan waited for a moment, before he nodded his great head. "Come, Son of Adam."
Edmund somehow made his way to his feet and followed the great lion out of the castle and towards the willow grove and the fresh grave. They walked in silence for a time, and just before they entered the grove, Aslan stopped and turned to Edmund.
"Son of Adam, what would you do to save your brother?"
Edmund looked at Aslan, confused. "Save him? How? He's dead."
"As was I," the great lion reminded him. "What would you do to save him?"
Edmund paused, wondering…hoping…could Aslan mean what Edmund thought he meant? "I would do anything, Aslan. I would give my own life if it meant saving his."
"And have you accepted that you cannot change everything, Son of Adam? Have you accepted your role in your brother's death?"
"What role? I killed him, didn't I?"
Aslan shook his mane, which rippled in the late afternoon light. "What happened, young one, could not have been avoided. You were no more at fault than your brother. Can you accept that? Do you accept it?"
"How do I accept it when everyone around me blames me?" Edmund asked, somewhat bitterly.
"The opinions of others do not matter, dear one. What matters is your own. Can you accept that your brother's death was not your fault?"
Edmund lowered his eyes for a long moment. "I would like to, Aslan. I really would…but I was there. It was my sword that took my brother's life. I was the one who held him in my arms as he bled to death. I am the reason he died."
Aslan shook his head again. "You were the cause, but that does not put you at fault. It was an accident, dear one, nothing more. Accidents happen, and if you are truly to be the Just King, you must accept it. Do you?"
Oh, how Edmund wanted to. But under the lion's presence, his warm, loving, comforting presence, Edmund felt his guilt and his self-loathing beginning to melt away. Peter's last words, after all, had been that it wasn't Edmund's fault, and if Peter didn't blame him, did Edmund really have the right to blame himself? After a long moment, he raised his eyes to meet Aslan's and he nodded, slowly.
Aslan's golden eyes locked with Edmund swollen, red, tear-stained face and seemed to be looking deep into his soul in that strange, penetrating way that he had. After a long moment he nodded. "Stay here, dear one." With that, he paced into the willow grove and disappeared among the trees, which, though small and slender, were thick and tightly woven.
Edmund waited…and waited some more, wondering, hoping, praying. It had been late afternoon when they approached the grove and was just edging on towards sunset when the golden form of the lion reappeared, emerging from the grove, his pace slow and stately.
Aslan paused beside Edmund and again looked at him with that penetrating gaze. "Always remember, Son of Adam…a heart at peace gives life to the body."
With that, the proud lion walked back toward the castle, leaving Edmund standing alone beside the willow grove, puzzling over the lion's last words and watching him walk away.
"Edmund?" a familiar voice asked.
Edmund froze. That voice….
He turned, slowly, back to face the willow grove…and nearly fainted. Standing there, having just pushed aside the boughs at the edge of the grove, was a figure he thought he'd never see again. Dressed in the ceremonial robes, his blue eyes bright and shining with love and relief, Peter stepped forward and caught his brother up in a firm embrace.
"Peter…" Edmund whispered. "Oh, Aslan…thank you…"
"The end of a matter is better than it's beginning, and patience is better than pride."
-Anonymous