Where We Go
By Gwenneth
Summary: What happens if you die in Narnia? The main part of the plot was requested by my wonderful beta, Phoenixqueen and if it seems dark, I'm a really dark mood right now. Taking a breather from my other story, "To War" since I can't very well do THIS in that one…
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I apologize to the poor characters right now.
Warning: Character death, hope you're not squemish.
The banquet was in full swing and High King Peter was merrily cavorting with one of the female Fauns out on the dance floor. Edmund and Lucy were doing a poor rendition of an old Centaur dance, Lucy attempting to be the front legs and Edmund the back. They were so uncoordinated, it was a wonder they hadn't fallen over yet. Susan was chatting amicably with a female dryad about the state of affairs in her clearing.
No one noticed the stealthy figure approaching the high table, a small vial tucked into his right hand and a serving pitcher clenched in his left. As unobtrusively as possible, the dwarf metered apple cider into four gilded cups – then tipped the contents of the vial into one of them.
Backing away, he watched as the Kings and Queens and their merry subjects continued to celebrate, oblivious to what had just happened. With a wicked grin, and a gleeful rub of his hands, the dwarf muttered, "Tonight. I will have the last laugh."
As the dwarf left the banquet hall, the four young rulers of Narnia were excusing themselves from their dancing and talking and each was wending their way back to their table, flushed from all the excitement.
Lucy flopped into her seat, draping her arms over the table and resting her chin on them. "Ed, that was too fun," she said. "Did you see the look on Oreius' face when he saw us trying to do that dance?" Turning to Peter, she smirked. "And you, High King Peter the Magnificent, you've really learned to dance since our coronation two years ago!"
Smiling, Peter lifted his gilded cup to his mouth and drank deeply, wiping the moisture from his lips when he was finished. "Thanks, Lu," he said. "I've been practicing up a bit, seeing as we have many more dances ahead of us and we can't have Narnia's High King making a fool of himself all the time."
"I wish you would put as much effort into your diplomacy as you do your dancing, Peter," Susan said, reaching the table now and smiling at her brother's disgusted face. "There is a lot more to ruling than parties."
Peter slung an arm around her shoulder. "Oh, I know, Su," he said. "But you need to remember there is a lot more to ruling than just diplomacy as well. You need to lighten up a bit, Queen Susan the Gentle. Come, let's dance!"
He dragged a protesting Susan away to the dance floor as Lucy and Edmund laughed.
"I haven't had this much fun in ages," Edmund said. "After this week in court, we needed a break. I don't think anyone has ever stormed out on us before that dwarf. I know you can't please everyone, but I had hoped it would have turned out better."
Lucy patted his arm. "Don't worry about it, Edmund. It's over."
As the night wound down, the banquet hall began to empty and the Pevensie siblings gradually spent less time on the dance floor and more time at the head table. Peter drained his cup finally and turned to his brother and sisters.
"Well, I hate to wrap up this wonderful night, but I'm really tired. If I stay much longer, I fear I'll be sleeping here tonight and I'll be most grumpy in the morning!" He hugged Lucy and Susan and chased after Edmund until he could draw him into a hug as well. "I love you guys," he said, then turned and left the hall.
Lucy, Edmund and Susan weren't far behind, the former especially, since she was still rather young. As night settled on Cair Paravel, a pair of beady black eyes stood outside a royal bed chamber and waited.
Normally, his dreams were good.
Tonight, they were decidedly not. Peter watched as Edmund was stabbed by the White Witch's broken blade, watched as Oreius was struck and turned to stone, watched a stone gryphon shatter to a million tiny pieces against a cliff face.
His dream turned from the past to things that had never happened, but that he had always feared could happen.
Susan clutched her midsection, blood pouring out over her hands, a giant prepared to swing another vicious blow with his crude scimitar. Edmund pinned to the ground by a spear in the chest, his lifeless eyes staring up at Peter and asking "why didn't you save me?"
Perhaps the worst was seeing Lucy – dear, sweet, little Lucy – hanging from a tree by her wrists, feet dangling a foot off the ground, her white dress soaked in crimson blood and her eyes shut against the beauty of the world forever.
His eyes snapped open and his breathing sped up as pain ripped through his stomach. Peter's first instinct was to clutch himself and try to relieve the pain, but he quickly found he was unable to move.
Only his eyelids seemed to work, his limbs heavy and his chest only rising and falling because he was still drawing in breath. No voluntarily movement whatsoever. His eyes slid from left to right desperately hoping that someone was there who could help him. He couldn't even open his mouth to call out.
A shadow interrupted the steady stream of light beaming through the window from the full moon. Peter's eyes strained to try and find the source. He needn't have tried so hard as the figure came to stand beside his bed.
The High King's heart leapt into his throat as the dwarf he had angered in court last week stood beside him, staring down at him with so much loathing that Peter wished he could hide under his blankets to avoid the glare.
Leaning close, his hot, mead-smelling breath blowing across Peter's face, the dwarf whispered, "You should have just given me what I wanted, boy. I never lose and some young upstart King like you isn't going to change that."
He straightened and a glint of silver in the moonlight was all the warning Peter received before an agonizing pain tore through him and he squeezed his eyes shut, breath coming in shaking, gasping sobs.
Still unable to move, he couldn't stop the dwarf as the creature tore the serrated blade back out of his stomach and this time plunged it down slightly higher, sucking the breath from Peter's lungs and bringing tears to his blinking eyes.
"Say hello to Aslan, High King," the dwarf taunted before sinking the knife hilt-deep in Peter's chest.
With a great heaving gasp, Peter's eyes snapped open wide and he struggled in vain to draw in a breath, to move, to do anything at all, but it was no use. He couldn't move and he couldn't breathe.
The blood began to pool around him, soaking his white bed linens and light blue tunic and trousers a sickly dark red, almost black. His vision began to tunnel as his body, deprived of oxygen, convulsed. The dwarf looked on, watching the 16-year-old king struggle to breathe, but knowing it would do no good.
With one last shuddering gasp, Peter's chest jerked and then stopped moving.
His eyes wide and very blue, stared at the ceiling. He must have been getting feeling back at the last moment, because his hands were clenched in the sheets as if he could anchor himself to this world by that act alone.
But he couldn't.
Blood continued to seep from his wounds, some slowly dripping from the corner of his slightly parted lips. The dwarf looked down at the ground where a puddle had formed and was slowly meandering along the stone cracks toward the closed door to the High King's chamber.
Pleased with his handy-work, the dwarf turned to the window and shimmied down the rope that hung from the small balcony before disappearing into the night.
"Ed, you don't suppose Peter snuck a pint or a glass of wine last night, do you?" Lucy said as she munched on the toast on her plate. Edmund looked up from his own breakfast and turned toward her, shaking his head.
"Nah, Peter wouldn't do that," he said with conviction. "He's way too noble, Lu. Isn't that right, Susan?" Their older sister nodded, but didn't say anything as she sipped the orange juice in her cup.
With a small sigh, Lucy pushed back her chair. "Well, he needs to eat. He's far too thin what with all the meals he skips to hear matters of court. I'm going to go get him. Don't eat all the toast, Edmund, you know how Peter likes it!"
She snatched a piece just before he could raise it to his lips. "Hey!" He laughed as she set it on the empty plate that Peter would normally be using right now. "Tell that lazy bones to hurry up and get out here. We have training this morning."
Nodding, Lucy hurried from the hall and raced down the corridors toward the High King's chamber. It wasn't far, but she was panting by the time she got there. As she reached the door and stepped up to it to knock, there was a squelch under her feet.
Frowning, she looked down and saw she'd stepped in something wet that was seeping under the doorway. Stooping, she dipped a finger into it and pulled it up to inspect it. It was bright red.
"Peter?" The 9-year-old called out. "You're missing breakfast and Ed said to remind you that you and he have training this morning." There was no response, so she knocked loudly. "Peter! Come on! I'm hungry! And Ed's going to eat all the toast!"
Still nothing.
Sighing, she turned the knob on the door and pushed it open. "Peeeeter!" She said as she stepped through and turned to close the door behind her, in case her brother wasn't dressed. It wouldn't do for a servant to see their High King in his sleep clothes.
She smiled at that thought and turned around.
And screamed.
"What the -?" Edmund jumped to his feet, knocking into the wooden table the siblings used for informal breakfasts. "Lucy!" He pushed his chair back so fast that it fell to the stone ground with a clatter.
Looking toward Susan, he bolted toward Peter's chambers with his older sister on his heels. The running monarchs and the scream of the youngest had drawn servants and general Oreius. "What is going on?" the latter asked.
Edmund shook his head as the group rounded the final corner.
A distraught Lucy flung herself at Edmund, toppling him to the ground with her on top of him crying hysterically and shaking. Her hands grabbed Edmund so hard he thought she was going to break something.
"Lucy?" he whispered, confused. "What?"
She shook and continued cried out, "Peter. Peter. Peter. No. No. No."
There was a piercing shriek from Susan and Edmund looked up. His sister was chalk white, her hands to her mouth and her eyes as wide as saucers. She promptly spun around and threw up.
Oreius stepped forward and looked through the open door to Peter's chamber. He stumbled backward and now Edmund's heart skipped a beat. "What is going on?" he asked quietly, loosening himself from Lucy's grasp and pushing her toward a female Faun.
The general raised a hand, "My king, don't."
But Edmund did.
Peter's bed was awash in red. The young High King was still in it, lying still and with a grayish hue to his skin. A trail of red blood had run from a puddle on and beneath the bed toward the door and he followed it to where his foot was standing in it.
He blinked. But the horrible image didn't change.
Stumbling to the side, it was only the quick action of Oreius that stopped him from falling to the hard ground beneath him. He couldn't speak, he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe.
"King Edmund," Oreius said. Edmund heard him, but barely. The centaur raised his voice and shook the young man. "Breathe, damn it!"
With a great gasp, Edmund obeyed the general. He started shaking, slowly at first, but then with increasing speed. Susan was enfolded in the arms of another centaur and Oreius took Edmund around the shoulders and pulled him away from the doorway and out of sight of his brother's body.
A silent glance ordered a pair of Fauns to deal with King Peter before his siblings saw him again. Oreius and the other two Narnians drew their charges away from the room and into Susan's down the next corridor.
The three huddled on the large bed, clutching each other as they cried and wailed and shook with emotion. Before long, it was too much and they drifted into exhausted and shocked sleep.
Oreius turned to his second in command. "Make sure they do not leave this room. And let no one else in except myself and the Faun Tumnus. I'll send him along, he might be a comfort to them."
The general would get to the bottom of this. He stood outside Peter's room and watched as the fauns cleaned the blood from the young monarch. Oreius had seen much death in his life, but this image would never leave him as long as he lived.
Peter had died in agony, if his hands were anything to go by, claw-like against the sheets. Whoever had done this had wanted him to suffer. And he had. Oh he had. Oreius steeled himself and hurried away, determined to find the murderer.
Lucy pushed food around her plate. Susan picked at her toast with a weary finger. Edmund didn't bother to feign eating, just sat and stared at his plate. Peter's funeral had been a day full of screams of anguish, sorrow and pain not just for the siblings but for all their subjects.
He had been entombed with the great Kings and Queens of old with the sword of the High King gently placed in his hands, crossed on his chest. Lucy had fainted as the tomb was sealed, Susan had cried out and threw herself into Edmund as Tumnus took hold of Lucy and held her close until she woke up.
Now, a month later, they had not recovered. They would never recover. The castle held no warmth for them. The happy memories were always overpowered by the red blood and the still body in the bed.
No one tried to draw them out of their melancholy anymore. They had tried and tried, but nothing worked. Drowning them in work, getting them out in the fresh air, nothing did the trick.
Tumnus watched the three from the safety of the nearby corridor.
"Aslan, if ever you hear me, hear me now. They can not go on like this. Please, Aslan. Come and help your dear ones." He was startled when a low rumble sounded behind him. Spinning, his eyes widened. "Aslan," he breathed. "You came!"
The great lion, eyes somber and filled with what looked like tears, nodded. "When I felt the death of the High King, I began my journey. I only wish I could have come sooner." He looked past Tumnus to the Pevensies. "This is not what I had foreseen. This is not right. I cannot burden them any further. Narnia has taken enough from them. Their innocence and their brother."
He rounded the corner and was met with six forlorn eyes. Even Lucy, who always had bountiful faith and joy, did nothing more than rise and curtsey to Aslan along with her sister as her brother bowed.
"Aslan," Edmund whispered. "You're here."
The great lion stood before them. "My children," he said, equally as quiet. It took only a second more before they clutched him and were sobbing into his golden fur. "Hush now, all will be well. Evil won't win."
Susan pulled back, her gaze hard. "He already won, Aslan. That dwarf killed our brother. Stabbed him to death while he was unable to move. Peter died in so much pain I can't even think about it without feeling like I'm going to be sick."
The lion said nothing at first.
"Saddle your horses and meet me at the gates."
He turned away and left, three confused Pevensies standing in his wake.
But they quickly did as he asked and soon the four were heading out into the woods in the direction of the Lantern Waste. Lucy and Susan exchanged glances, the former frowning as if she was remembering a dream.
Aslan stopped suddenly and Lucy looked past him to see a strange lantern in the middle of a small clearing. "It's like a dream I vaguely remember," Susan muttered. Lucy dismounted. "Or a dream of a dream," the youngest Pevensie said quietly, looking around.
Edmund slipped from the horse as well, looking around. Aslan faded back into the woods, forgotten, as the three young ones moved deeper into a nearby thicket, pushing aside branches – and then something decidedly softer.
"What's this?" Susan said, confused. "It's not branches."
Edmund frowned. "No, it's coats."
There was a muffled grunt and then Susan, Edmund and Lucy tumbled out of an old wardrobe. Lifting herself up on her arms, Lucy flipped her hair out of her eyes and gasped.
Edmund was five inches shorter. Susan's face was chubbier and she was younger. Feeling her own hair, she found it cropped closer to her head than a few moments ago. With a small cry of disbelief, she sat up.
"We're…spare room…the country." She turned back toward the wardrobe and spied the solid wood back of it, not trees and no Narnia. "How? Why?"
The door to the spare room swung open.
"There you are! Why'd you run, the professor wasn't that angry!"
Lucy, Susan and Edmund stared up at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy in the doorway, gently tossing a ball up and down in his right hand. Peter Pevensie smiled at his siblings, sprawled out on the floor.
"P…P…Pete?"
Edmund found his voice first. "You. You're alive?"
The older boy sobered. "Of course I am, silly. You didn't honestly think Professor Digory would kill me for us breaking a window, did you?" He tossed the ball to Edmund, frowning when it smacked the younger boy in the forward. "Oops. You were supposed to catch that."
He quickly found himself with arms full of siblings as the three younger children sprang to their feet and flung themselves at him with cries of "Peter" and "we missed you" muffled in his shirt.
Shaking his head, he glanced at the wardrobe and pulled himself from their grasps, walking toward it and lightly fingering the intricate carving on the door. His eyes widened and he staggered backward, a hand on his chest.
"Oh my," he whispered as Edmund clutched his arm with concern. "Oh dear. Oh that's why." He looked at his siblings, eyes wide with shock and sympathy. "I did die on you, didn't I?"
They could only nod, dumbfounded at having Peter here in front of them after watching him being buried only a month ago in the tombs of Cair Paravel. They were shocked out of their memories, Peter's coming back to him now that he had touched the wardrobe, when the door flipped back open and a gray head appeared.
"There you are. What were you all doing in the wardrobe, leaving your brother to apologize for you all? That wasn't very nice of you three," the professor chuckled. His eyes narrowed when he saw the decidedly dazed looks in their eyes and he stooped down to pick up the discarded ball. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Three sets of eyes snapped to Peter and Peter's snapped to the professor's.
Edmund swallowed, "We have," he whispered. "But you'd never believe us if we told you, sir."
The professor's eyes twinkled. "Try me."
A/N: Ok, so perhaps there is something wrong with me, yeh? Just a mood, I suppose. Thanks for reading…and obviously, I chickened out and couldn't kill Peter. He's my favorite character…