Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.
CHAPTER TWO: PSALM 119:53
"Come up, My Lord, come up."
Peter only glared at the traitor Lord Arren.
"Surely, High King, you would not wish your Just King to go traveling without you." Arren frowned when Peter did not move. "Perhaps, King Edmund, you can persuade your royal brother."
Peter heard Edmund's sudden gasping hiss, but he made no other sound. No doubt the Terebinthians had prodded him with a dagger or twisted his arm behind his back, and stubborn Edmund had refused to be intimidated. Still, no use letting him be truly hurt. There was nothing to be gained from being left down in the bottom of a pit anyway.
Scraped hands stinging, Peter hauled himself to the top of the cistern. He glared at Arren and Darreth the moment he saw them. The younger of the brothers stood behind Edmund, holding him by one arm, a blade at his throat. Maybe Darreth didn't want to kill anyone, but that didn't mean he wouldn't if he were to be pressured too much.
"What now?" Peter asked warily. "I don't suppose there's any going back at this point."
"Not for any of us, My Lord," Arren said, his doleful tone not quite in accord with the smug look on his face. "Now, if Your High Majesty would be so kind as to seat yourself at the base of that tree, we will try to make this as painless as possible for everyone."
Peter set his jaw, prepared to be uncooperative, but Darreth pressed the dagger a little more firmly into Edmund's neck, staring pointedly at the oak Arren had indicated, and Peter dropped down beside it.
"Now, My Lord," Arren said, "your shirt."
"My–"
Edmund inhaled sharply at another bite from the dagger, and Peter was quick to comply. He tossed his shirt, already marked with a few drops of the stag's blood, at his captor's feet. Arren rummaged in the pouch he had brought with him and brought out another shirt, his own spare, and tossed it into Peter's lap.
"Put that on."
It was rather snug across Peter's broad shoulders, but he put it on without comment. Then, as he was ordered, he put his arms behind him and felt himself tied by his wrists, not too cruelly, to the tree trunk.
"And you, My Lord," Arren said to Edmund. "We must have yours as well."
At a nod from his older brother, Darreth released his captive and, without ceremony, Arren stripped Edmund's shirt off of him, leaving him glaring and pale there in the clearing. Darreth's spare shirt rather overwhelmed his slim frame, but at least he wouldn't have to go without.
"Now, Good My Lord, if you would."
Arren gestured towards another tree, this one a birch, and Edmund sat leaning against it. In another moment, he was tied as Peter had been. After that, the Terebinthian yanked a few strands of hair, not much, from each of their heads.
"Now, Darreth," Arren ordered, "go into the forest and bring back the stag our High King took this morning."
"The stag?"
"Yes, that great beast with antlers lying dead in the clearing. You'll know it when you see it."
Darreth looked unimpressed by his brother's sarcasm. "What are you going to do?"
"Just go get it. Then we can go see what interest Serkan has in our little proposition. Hurry."
Darreth disappeared into the trees and returned a moment later, dragging the carcase.
"What are you going to do?" he asked again when Arren drew his dagger.
"Never you mind. Just make sure our royal guests are secure where they are."
The older of the Terebinthians gave Peter a knowing grin and knelt by the stag. Then he took the Kings' shirts and spread them out over the carcase and then sprinkled the hair over them. Peter and Edmund glanced at each other.
"Peter?" Edmund said, dark brows drawn together, voice soft. "What's he–"
Both of the Kings gasped as Arren raised his dagger and plunged it through the shirts into the body of the stag. Over and over, he stabbed and cut and raked and kicked, soaking the fine linen in blood and gore, tearing with his hands as well as with the blade, ripping the material as if in a frenzy of madness, snapping the beast's fragile bones as he did, rolling the body over and over in the dirt and grass of the clearing as if he were fighting the poor, dead creature.
Peter and Edmund only watched wide-eyed until, panting, Arren stilled again, seeming satisfied with his efforts. After that he dumped out the contents of his brother's pouch and stuffed the ruined shirts into it. The he came to stand before Peter.
Without prologue, he seized the gold pendant Peter wore, and Peter's eyes flashed fire. The pendant was dear to him, just a small disc no bigger than a sixpence, with the Lion's head on one side and some ancient runes engraved on the other. As near as they could be translated, the runes said, "His and not my own." Edmund and Susan and Lucy had also each been given one not long after their coronation, a gift from the Prophet Centaur Stormseer who lived near Caldron Pool.
Arren sneered at the pendant and then wrenched it from Peter's neck, snapping the fine chain. Then he went to the other side of the oak and stripped the seal ring from Peter's finger, the one that marked him as High King. He did the same with Edmund's pendant and seal ring. Then, wearing both rings and with both pendants clutched in his fist, he thrust his hand into the stag's gaping side, sliming the bright gold with blood. Afterwards, he put all of his plunder into the pouch with the shirts.
"Now, noble Kings, one final thing and we will have done. Darreth, gather some wood."
Without protest, Darreth again disappeared into the forest. Arren meanwhile began dismembering the stag, mostly pulling it apart instead of dressing it neatly. He packed a portion of the meat into the pouches brought for the purpose, but most of it he left in fragments on the blood-pooled ground.
When Darreth returned with the dry wood, they stacked it where the carcase had been and then laid the torn remains of the stag on top. With the click of flint and steel, Arren started a fire. Eventually there was a billow of black smoke, and soon the pieces, flesh, bone, hide, hair and all, were burnt into ashes.
As the ashes began to cool, Peter and Edmund exchanged a grim glance. It all made sense. No one would ever think to look for them now.
Author's Note: I realize these chapters are fairly short, but I hope to update frequently, not less than once a week. Thanks to all of you who reviewed the first chapter. Yes, this is a fairly loose take on the story of Joseph from Genesis as many of you have already noticed. I do hope to give it some unexpected twists and turns. Do let me know what you think.
– WD