Title: Magic of the Deep
Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Author's note: The story now jumps forward a few years after the Witch has been killed by Aslan, and Peter, Susan, and Lucy have been crowned rulers. But what happened in those in between years will be told in flashbacks included in the chapters.
Any characters that look familiar are probably from the movie, any characters that don't look familiar are of my own making.
Summary: What if Edmund hadn't been reunited with his siblings?
Chapter One: Momentum
why am I walking barefoot
upon this road with no one around?
I close my eyes to this decision
the night's like coffee to my tongue
like waking up without a sound
I map the words out
maybe you will say them
--Vienna Teng, 'Momentum'
Three years later at Cair Paravel…
The sun rose slowly over the distant horizon, casting golden rays of light on the land beneath. The hazy mountains, purple in the morning light, stood out against the fiery sky, and the blazing sun reflected off the smooth surface of the blue ocean.
The beauty of all this was lost on Peter.
He came here every morning to watch the sun rise, but he no longer saw the enchantment of the dawn. He paid little heed to the dancing waves of light that cascaded across the silver-mirror ocean. He found no pleasure in the gentle breeze that ruffled the leaves of the trees and whistled through the grass.
No, the beauty of Narnia no longer gave him pleasure like it had before.
He looked away from the rising sun and let his thoughts wander, as they often did, to the past.
Peter pulled a few of the coats out of the wardrobe and handed two of them to his sisters. Lucy took hers with excitement and pulled over her shoulders, grinning broadly, her cheeks flushed red with the cold. Susan gratefully slipped into hers and looked around, eyes still wary with suspicion. They had wandered into some strange land, and she was not about to trust anyone or anything, regardless of what Lucy said about being here before.
Peter held out the third coat to Edmund, and the dark haired boy took it with some distaste.
"Hey, that's a girl's coat," Edmund protested, eyes narrowing angrily at the insult
"I know," Peter replied calmly, and the implied insult lingered in the air between them as he turned away and left his brother holding the coat. He surveyed the snowy landscape in front of them, watching as Lucy eagerly danced ahead of them, staring up at the trees. He bit back the urge to call out to Lucy, to tell her not to wander ahead. But Lucy had found this place and insisted that it was real, even when none of them believed her, and she deserved to have the freedom of leading them wherever she chose.
He looked back at Edmund, who was wearing the heavy brown coat. There was a simmering anger in those dark eyes, something that unnerved him for a moment. But then he pushed it aside dismissively. What could Edmund possible do?
The answer to that question had become so blatantly obvious not to long after the event, and Peter now would have given anything in the world to be able to take back his uncaring words. But he couldn't undo the past, couldn't ever know what might have been if he had only kept a better eye on his brother.
How long had it been since the Great War? How long had it been since he had last seen Edmund?
They had not given up hope. When Aslan had defeated the Witch and the three siblings had claimed their rightful place on the thrones of Cair Paravel, they had not given up hope. They had searched for Edmund for three long years, searched far and wide until they had scoured every bit of Narnia.
But each year passed, and there was still no sign of their wayward brother. And that hope had faded, become frail and weak, and after a time, Peter could no longer even remember the sound of his brother's voice.
What kind of king couldn't even protect his own brother?
"I'm sorry, Ed," he whispered to the cool morning air, knowing that the one person who needed to hear those words was already gone.
The echoing clip-clop of hooves on the balcony caused Peter to tear himself from his guilt-ridden thoughts and turn towards the approaching centaur. "Good morning, General," he greeted stiffly, a little annoyed at having been interrupted.
"Good morning, your Majesty," came the response. Oreius had not changed much since the war. He was still the same taciturn centaur with a flair for strategic planning and restless desire for fighting. But in the years of relative peace since the fall of the Witch, his relationship with the young High King had changed from that of a mere advisor and general to an actual friend.
And he could tell by the troubled look in Peter's eyes that the king had been thinking of the fourth monarch that was no longer there.
"What news brings you here so early in the morning?" Peter asked, leaning against the stone railing of the balcony.
"Nothing good," Oreius answered grimly. "There are more rumors from the Western Wood. A band of Fell Creatures has amassed. They are clearly forming an army."
Peter grimaced. "Have you called for a war council?"
Oreius inclined his head. "They're already gathering in the council room, your Majesty," he replied.
Peter looked out at the sun again. "Okay," he murmured, "I'll be there in a moment."
Oreius rested his hand on Peter's shoulder. "Narnia needs a king," he said quietly, his tone firm and unyielding despite the gentle softness, "and you cannot change what has already happened. You do the young King Edmund's memory no favors by dwelling on what could have been." Without waiting for Peter's reply, he turned and walked away.
Peter held his breath until the last echoing hoof-step faded, and then exhaled the air in a sharp sigh.
On the beach below, a few Animals were wandering around, cavorting about with a sense of carefree joy. Peter watched them, his eyes tracking every single step. He wished, for a fleeting moment, that he could join them and enjoy the pleasant day without thinking of anything else but the fresh air and the sweet smell of blooming flowers.
"Peter?"
He jumped, startled. Whipping around, he frowned for a moment at the two who stood before, then said, "I guess I should be paying better attention. I didn't hear you come."
Lucy laughed, shaking her head so that her brown hair bounded on her shoulders. "That's alright, Peter."
"You're lucky, though," Susan quipped, "that we weren't enemies, or you would be at our mercy." Then her expression became somber once more, and she said, "I saw Oreius leaving. What happened? What did he need to talk to you about?"
Peter sighed again. "Fell Creatures possibly forming an army in the Western Woods."
"Are you going to have to fight?" Lucy asked, instantly worried. Her young face turned up towards Peter, waiting for an answer. He nodded reluctantly, his mouth to dry to speak, and she looked down at the ground. "Oh." She swallowed, and added, "Be careful."
"Always, Lu," Peter promised. "You know that. I've fought Fell Creatures before, and been fine."
"But never an army," Lucy protested. "Not since…" She stopped, trailing off. "Not since the Great War."
"Why would an army gather in the Western Woods?" Susan asked, her analytical mind questioning Peter's information. "It is not particularly close to anything. Certainly not to Ettinsmoor."
Ettinsmoor, home to a rather unfriendly breed of Giants, had offered a haven to any of the Witch's old army who might have escaped the War with their lives. From there, they had been able to organize several attacks on Narnian soil. Time and again, Peter's army had been forced to drive them back across the mountains that separated the two lands.
"Maybe they want to go somewhere else," Lucy answered.
"Where?" Susan pressed. "They won't go to Archenland or Calormen, or anywhere else inhabited by people afraid of Narnian Creatures. Certainly not to the Telmarines. They'd only be killed their, or worse. And the Western Woods are too far away to launch a successful attack on Cair Paravel."
"Maybe they're not planning on attacking right away," Peter suggested thoughtfully, pondering over this puzzle. "Maybe they have plans for something else." He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing a map of Narnia laid out across the dark underside of his eyelids. "The Witch's castle is close…" he murmured, remembering how easy it had been for Edmund to slip away from the Beaver's home and walk directly into certain danger before any of them had noticed.
And how things might have been different if only they had paid attention…
"But why go there?" Susan asked, turning to Peter and watching the dark look that momentarily flashed through his eyes, knowing he was thinking of Edmund and wishing there was some way to remove that haunted expression from his smoldering eyes. "The Witch is dead."
"But her power lingers," Lucy murmured. "The only way she can be truly defeated is when all four of us sit on the thrones at Cair Paravel. The prophecy…" She stopped, shaking her head. It was useless to discuss this point now, given that the fourth monarch was gone and it was far too late to change what had happened. But without Edmund, the Witch's influence would never be completely destroyed, and Narnia would have no peace.
Peter eyed Lucy with a contemplative stare. Time had changed her from the little girl who cried so easily at taunts or laughed in delight at simple pleasures. The vestiges of that girl still remained, sometimes breaking through the outer façade of strength and duty that she wore like a heavy mantle on her shoulders. She'd taken the loss of Edmund so hard that for a time it had changed into someone different, so serious and grave, making her almost unrecognizable. Only time and slow healing had managed to bring some of the carefree laughter back into her eyes.
Susan instinctively reached out and rested an arm around Lucy's shoulders. She alone remembered what Edmund had been like, the cruel mocking he had directed at Lucy, the barely controlled fury that glimmered in his eyes when he looked at either her or Peter. In their grief, the other two had turned Edmund into an innocent victim, a saint who could do no wrong in their foggy memories. Grief, she supposed, did that to people, made them forget everything but the bubbling guilt that wouldn't ever go away.
She did not love Edmund any less for this, nor was her grief any less than that of Peter and Lucy. But she could see with a tempered wisdom what the others could not; that Edmund, too, had made mistakes. She used that knowledge to force herself forward, instead of letting her own pain bury her, rooted in grief. She used that knowledge to be the best Queen she could be, instead of letting herself, in an effort to dull the ache, sink into continual campaigns and battles, as Peter did, with little thought to anything but destroying every last memory of the Witch.
But… Edmund was still gone. And it still hurt.
And she wondered why, for all her efforts to be grown up, did she still feel like nothing more than a little girl dressed up in her mother's clothes?
Peter sighed, breaking the uneasy silence. "I need to get to the war council," he said finally. He turned, one last time, to look up at the sun as it rose higher in the sky. The sapphire blue stretched out as far as the eye could see, not a single cloud in sight. The golden-yellow sand of the beach glittered in the morning light, and the tiny drops of dew that sprinkled over the grass and leaves of the surrounding gardens glistened with an almost other-worldly glow. The air was filled with the scent of morning, of crushed pine and damp moss, of roses and lavender, of life.
Without Edmund… where was the wonder in any of this beauty?
He pushed the thoughts aggressively from his mind and made his way slowly towards the council rooms. This latest campaign would take him back into the Western Woods, back into the memories of the last time he had seen his brother. He gripped his hands tightly into fists, lips pressed into a straight line, and thought with some sense of vindictive pleasure that this would be one more opportunity to wipe out the Creatures who took his brother from him.
He entered the council room and was only vaguely aware of the salutes and bows he was receiving from all of the Animals and Creatures assembled. He wasted no time with pleasantries.
"You've all heard the rumors?"
There was a murmur of assent.
"If an army of Fell Creatures is gathering, it can be for nothing good," Peter said firmly. "I will not wait for them to attack us. They have already caused havoc for many of the peaceful Narnians living near our borders, and this time I would take the fight to them."
"Open attack?" a Panther asked, his white teeth bared in anticipation. "The Western Woods is far from Cair Paravel. Do you think perhaps they are trying to draw us from your Castle, your Majesty?"
Peter inclined his head. "That is quite possible, Shadow," he agreed. "Which is why I will leave half the army here, to protect the castle and my sisters."
"We know little about these Creatures," Philip pointed out. The great stallion paced back and forth across the stone floor, occasionally snorting impatiently and shaking his head from side-to-side. "Do they outnumber us?"
Peter turned a questioning stare to Oreius. The General answered, "Our spies have been unable to determine the number of Creatures in the army. To the best of our knowledge, they would not outnumber us in soldiers, but they may have magics that we do not."
A silence met those words, and all present knew that the centaur was referring to the types of magic employed by the Witch. Those magics, darker and far more deadly than any simple weapon of steel or wood, could cause great havoc in a battle.
"Do we know why they have gathered in the Western Woods? What do they want from us?" Philip pressed.
"From us?" Shadow interrupted, his tone sarcastic. "Nothing. They want us dead. Destroyed. They want our ruin."
"Your Majesty," came the tiny squeak of a Mouse. "while I agree with you that we cannot allow them to attack us again, I also wonder if perhaps we should proceed with more caution? We know next to nothing about these Creatures. I…" He hesitated, clearly not pleased about contradicting the High King, but then pressed on with growing determination, "I wonder, also, if they might be after you? If this could be a lure, not to leave Cair Paravel unprotected, but to ensnare you?"
Peter opened his mouth to respond, and then shut it as he forced himself to think over what the Mouse had said.
Philip, seeing the hesitation in the High King's eyes, ventured, "Perhaps Cheek is right."
The Mouse, Cheek, straightened a little at those words and attempted to pull himself to his full height, which was still much shorter than everyone else present.
Peter conceded with a short nod. "I suppose," he mused, "but isn't that always a danger with any battle?" He met Philip's gaze, and for a moment the Horse simply stared at him. He was unable to read anything in those deep brown eyes, and Philip said nothing, but Peter was left with the distinct impression that he had just been judged by the taciturn Animal.
He wondered what Philip had decided about him.
Philip was always the one of his advisors around whom he was least able to relax. He couldn't really say what it was about the Horse, but he often felt as though Philip was waiting for something or someone else to come along, as though his loyalty, while it would never waver from his duty to protect Narnia, was waiting for a different person, perhaps a different Monarch.
They discussed plans for a little while longer, then Peter dismissed the others with the order that those accompanying him on this campaign would need to be ready to leave by first light the next day. He knew he would need to tell Susan and Lucy that he was leaving, and take care of a few last minute matters of state before he could depart, and he hoped that a full day was enough time to complete those tasks.
As he left the room, Philip fell into step beside him. He was a bit startled by this, but he accepted it in good grace, curious as to why the Stallion wished to speak to him.
"Anger and pain are not good reasons to fight a war," Philip murmured abruptly. He was not looking at Peter, and his words were so quite the High King had to strain to hear them. But the meanings behind them were clear.
"I'm not…" Peter began, but Philip, in a startling breach of proper etiquette, interrupted him.
"There are many ways to get revenge. And many ways to obtain justice. Take care not to lose yourself while you pursue those paths. It is quite easy to get lost in them."
And without another word, he trotted away.
Peter watched him for a moment, then shook off the Horse's concerns. He had to do this, had to prove that he could keep his kingdom safe from the Witch's lingering influence, and from anyone else who tried to invade his peaceful country.
He'd failed Edmund. He wasn't going to fail anyone else.
The Mountains beyond the Western Wood, later the same day…
The Wolf was not having a good day.
His first attempt at hunting, a little white rabbit who had looked rather delicious, had easily escaped him when he was distracted by the sound of melting snow falling from a nearby tree and that tiny creature had zipped in between his legs and run to the safety of a nearby rabbit-hole.
His second attempt at hunting, a dark-furred fawn, had ended when the father had appeared and rammed his impressive mantle of antlers directly into the Wolf's chest.
And now, on his third attempt at hunting, he found himself somehow stuck in the prickly brambles of a large bush and his prey, a tasty-looking black and white badger, trundled careless away.
No, it was not a good day.
The sound of laughter split the air, and a boy stepped into view, his ragged dark hair falling over his eyes. "Trouble, Veltra?" he asked with a grin, watching as the Wolf struggled in vain to break free.
The Wolf turned a beady stare towards the boy and growled, "Well don't just stand there like an idiot. Help me out!"
The boy drew a knife from his belt and bent next to the Wolf, cutting at the brambles. "Hunting did not go well, then?" he asked, still smiling.
The Wolf bared his teeth. "What do you think, Edmund?" he snarled.
Instead of scaring the boy, as would most likely have been the case with anyone else, Veltra's words only caused further mirth for his rescuer. Edmund sliced the last bit of bramble away and helped Veltra stumbled from the bush, then collapsed onto the snowy ground, shaking with laughter.
"You'd better get back to the Village," he said finally, gasping for breath, "and let Artemis take a look at you."
"I don't need a Healer!" Veltra protested, his eyes flashing.
"Veltra, you're covered in thorns!" Edmund protested. When the Wolf did not reply, he pressed, "Come on, don't tell me you are afraid of a little medicine?" He rose to his feet, his boots sinking deeper into the soft snow with every move he made. "All she's going to do is pull out the thorns and put some ointment on your cuts." He paused again, adopting an air of thoughtful contemplation, then added, "Of course, she'll probably have to shave you first…"
Veltra moved with all the grave and lightening-swift speed of a fully-grown Wolf, and pounced on Edmund, knocking him into his back on the snow. Lips curled back into a sneer, open jaws inches away from Edmund's face, he growled, "She will do no such thing!"
Edmund laughed again, holding his hands up in a sign of surrender. "Alright, you win. I'll help you pull out the thorns. But if any of the cuts get infected, I'm taking you straight to Artemis."
"Humans," Veltra snorted in disgust, stepping off Edmund and allowing the boy to roll to his side and rise to a sitting position. "You're all useless, you know that?"
Edmund glared at him in mock outrage. "We are not useless."
"Yes, you are. You're all slow runners, you don't know how to see or smell properly, and you haven't got decent claws. Useless," Veltra replied, wincing slightly as Edmund pulled a thorn out of his fur. A drop of blood fell to the snow, turning it red. He stared at it for a moment, wincing again as Edmund none-to-gently yanked another thorn from his side. A second drop of blood fell beside the first.
"These are in deep," Edmund said, and the friendly banter was gone, now replaced by real concern.
"I'm fine," Veltra said again, his tone firm and allowing no argument.
At that moment, a young girl, perhaps a few years younger than Edmund, stepped into the small clearing and studied the two carefully. Her eyes widened at the sight of blood on the snow, and she gasped in worried shock, "What happened?"
"Veltra had a mishap with the brambles," Edmund answered, pulling out the last of the thorns and shooting the newcomer an annoyed look. "What are you doing here? And why are you alone?"
The girl lifted clear blue eyes to his face and said with a mixture of pleading and defiance, "Father said it was alright for me to pick berries by myself, as long as I stayed near the edge of the Village." She tugged at a blonde braid, waiting with obvious anxiety for the response.
"You are not close to the Village anymore, Nasada." It was Veltra who had spoken this time.
"I know," the girl replied, now looking a little embarrassed. "I got lost."
"There have been rumors of enemies gathering," Edmund said, rising to his feet and crossing to Nasada. "Dangerous Creatures forming an army at the base of these mountains. You need to be careful."
The girl flashed a smile, the kind that made even the firmest of hearts melt, and said, "I know, Edmund. But do stop being such a spoilsport. I'm safe now, aren't I? You and Veltra are here to protect me."
Edmund hesitated, then nodded. "True."
"Come on, then," Nasada continued, turning away from Edmund and looking at Veltra, "we need to get you back to the Village so Artemis can look at your cuts."
Edmund stifled a smile as Veltra growled in aggrieved annoyance, "I do not need a Healer."
"Oh, Veltra, don't be such a… a… a male!" Nasada protested, placing her hands on her hips and directing a motherly stare towards the Wolf. Despite her young age, she managed to muster a rather fierce expression on her face, and that caused Veltra to whine in response.
"Come now," Edmund chided lightly, "you may be able to refuse me, Veltra, but we both know you can not stand against Nasada for long."
"It won't take too long," Nasada promised. "You know Artemis can be so quick with cuts and scrapes."
"I don't need a…"
"Good," Nasada interrupted smoothly, "then it is settled. Come back to the Village now, Veltra." She turned and linked her arm through Edmund's elbow. "Come, brother."
"Alright, sister," Edmund agreed. "We're coming."