"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."

1

Behind Closed Doors

Nauseous waves crashed against the sides of the Dawn Treader, and she rocked against their force. Hammocks swayed; belongings slid across the floor. Wood creaked, and there could be heard the unhappy groans of sleeping sailors. The smell of salt water and sweat permeated the air, causing one of the only conscious crewmembers to wrinkle his nose slightly. The Dawn Treader lurched, and Edmund's hammock swung so far he feared for a moment that he would fall out of it.

Edmund felt more than slightly ill—not that he would ever mention it. Eustace had been complaining enough about that sort of thing for three grown men, and Edmund had no desire to burden everyone further.

A soft rosiness began to pour through the small cabin windows, and Edmund heaved a sigh of relief. He could hardly help falling asleep late and waking early, but the hour before dawn could be painfully lonely. When Edmund heard others beginning to stir, he closed his eyes and turned over in his hammock, pretending to be asleep until some more of the men were awake as well. There was something decidedly bothersome about being the first of a large group to wake in the morning.

Eventually, Edmund opened his eyes again and stretched his limbs. He swung his legs over the side of his hammock, bare feet landing solidly against the wood floor. Wobbling slightly as he walked, Edmund made his way to his haphazard pile of possessions. He dug through his clothes to find something he could change into. After all, what self-respecting king in his right mind would wander about in his nightclothes?

When he had changed into day clothes and slipped into a pair of stockings and boots, Edmund made his way to the deck. Others of the crew walked hither and thither, most to the galley for breakfast. Edmund, whose stomach had not yet adjusted to the sea—as evidenced by his persistent nausea—decided it would be better to go to the prow without eating. Once there, he leaned against the rail and stared out over the waves. He inhaled deeply; the warm, crisp Narnian air filled his lungs, and a single word rang out in his mind:

Home.

Edmund grinned to himself.

"I see you're in good cheer," said a voice. Edmund turned to see a smiling Caspian walking up the steps towards him. "Sleep well, then?"

"Well enough," Edmund replied, turning his gaze back to the water.

"Good." Caspian situated himself next to Edmund and began to munch on a piece of dried meat.

Edmund cleared his throat. "So," he said. "When do we reach the Lone Islands?"

"We should be there by nightfall." Caspian tore off a chunk of meat and offered it to Edmund, who politely refused.

Edmund hesitated before he spoke again. "…what do you expect to find when we get there?"

Caspian exhibited the same hesitation. When Edmund glanced at the Telmarine-turned-Narnian, the latter had turned his own gaze to the horizon. "Truth be told, I don't know. I hope to find at least some of the answers I seek, but..." Caspian frowned. "I don't know."

The sun was high in the sky by the time either of them spoke again.

"Well," said Caspian. He clapped Edmund on the shoulder, which startled the younger man considerably after so long a silence. "What say you to a little spar to pass the time until we make landfall?"

Edmund beamed. "I accept."

Edmund never intended to tell Caspian that, from a practical standpoint, he had actually won that battle—it was best not to harm the confidence of a comparatively new ruler. He simply drank the water offered to him and did his best to ignore his insufferable cousin's moaning.

When the cry announcing that land had been sighted rang through the air, Edmund felt the greatest of thrills rush through him. He strapped a sword to his belt—oh, how he had missed that weight on his hip!—and rushed back to the prow. He squinted, straining to see the land. It took a moment, but he could see, on the edge of the horizon, a dark blur, which slowly gained definition as he stared. Edmund didn't have to wait long before he could make out the blocky shapes of buildings.

When the longboats were being prepared to be lowered a few hours later, Edmund was one of the first to board. Lucy giggled at his almost bouncing enthusiasm.

The sun had half-hidden itself in dusk by the time Edmund's boot struck stone. Still the thrill of adventure remained, sending a tingling sensation through his fingers that he attempted to calm by gripping the hilt of his sword tighter. He ignored Eustace's losing battle against his own legs in favour of focussing his hearing on the ambient noises of the island—

"Listen," said Lucy. "…Where is everyone?"

—of which there were alarmingly few.

Somewhere, a bell tolled, startling the island's avian life from their resting places with a flurry of wings. Edmund unsheathed his sword and held it at the ready as he made his way up the path towards Narrowhaven's outskirts. Caspian left some final instructions with Reepicheep before he followed.

Edmund tried not to concentrate on the deep wrongness of the situation. Narrowhaven was a town that, in the Old Days, would have been bustling with activity at the first sign of a royal visit. And on this night, she was as silent as a sepulchre. He felt a shudder pass through him.

"I thought you said these islands were under your control," sulked Eustace. "Can't you just order them to come out?"

"That would be tyrannical," Caspian said firmly.

"…so?"

Edmund cast a sidelong glare at his cousin of such intensity that the younger closed his mouth immediately after opening it. Eustace pressed his lips firmly together and didn't make much noise after that.

The small group made their way through winding streets of sand and loose stone, surrounded on all sides by austere clay buildings with empty windows. The only sound to be heard was the crunch of shoes into sand and the occasional call of a wayward crow. These, the only indicators of life on the island, were more harsh in contrast to the stifling silence than they were reassuring.

Eventually, a building more ornate than the others came into view at the end of a road. Edmund could see a lamp burning in an upper floor window. He silently directed Caspian's attention towards it.

Crch, crch, crch, crch.

Edmund's eyes darted about in every direction, and he wondered if there was a way to mask footsteps on such a surface. He didn't like being heard in such an exposed environment.

Crch, crch.

When the iron door was within reach, Edmund stepped aside to let Caspian pass. Lucy stood behind him as Caspian's knuckles met metal. She gently squeezed his arm, then lowered her hand to grasp his fingers. He smiled faintly and squeezed back before pulling away.

After Caspian knocked the third time without a reply, he suggested forcing the door open. No-one disagreed. Five attempts and several sore shoulders later, the door gave, and a decidedly unpleasant odour wafted through the opening.

Eustace gagged and wrinkled his nose. "What a horrid stink," he groaned. "If it's all the same to you lot, I'm staying out here."

You never know, Edmund thought with a smirk, the British Consul might be in there. He said nothing aloud, however.

Caspian unsheathed a dagger and rested it in Eustace's hand. "You'll need something to protect yourself."

Eustace blinked, evidently surprised that he was being allowed to avoid this particular undertaking.

The remaining three made their way into the house. There was little of note in any of the rooms, aside from a few odd trinkets here and there on the shelves and tables, and an incomprehensible diagram nailed to one wall. The terrible odour grew in intensity as they went deeper in, and Edmund could feel the morning's nausea returning at the smell.

"Nobody's here," Lucy said softly.

"I'm not so sure," Edmund whispered back. "There was a lamp burning upstairs when we were outside."

Caspian shushed them, taking the first step onto the stairs. Edmund followed silently, with Lucy close behind. It was at the top of the stairs that the odour was the worst.

Edmund noticed a drop of red liquid beneath a closed door and frowned. He opened the door and immediately jumped back, sword raised and heart racing. Inside was the shattered body of an old man, and the walls of the room were splattered with his blood. On a desk just beyond the mangled corpse, a lamp burned cheerily.

"…I think I know where that smell's coming from," Edmund called out shakily.

—

A/N: So. I'm not dead. And stuff. I know, I know, it's been over a year since I've updated/uploaded… anything, but SHUSH I DO WHAT I WANT.

…so yeah. I don't really have much of an excuse for my horribly prolonged absence, but LOOK I'M HERE NOW ARE YOU HAPPY

It should be noted that The Sword and the Screwdriver is pretty much on indefinite hiatus, and the only other 'fic besides this one that I'm hoping to get anything done with is From Dusk 'til Dawn. So yeah.

Hi again, all you lovely people.