A/N: I'm back! And with another chapter at that! I feel really seeing how it has been nearly three months and this is only the fourth chapter. It had been laying completely idle, three-quarters of this chapter practically complete, for probably a month and a half. Last night, upon a newly founded spring of inspiration, I stayed up to tie up the ends. Enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: I only claim the nameless Narnians…
DECISIONS
Chapter Four: Demands
"Your Majesty, I think you should take a look outside."
Edmund looked up, startled. A meek Badger, one of Trufflehunter's many cousins, no doubt, stood in the threshold.
"Yes, thank you, good Badger."
Edmund smoothed his wrinkled clothing and stood, massaging his throbbing head. In the past few hours, responsibilities that had never belonged to him had now fallen on his teenage shoulders. Responsibilities of ensuring the safety of an entire country. Responsibilities of making sure his only brother returned home.
Peter, how do you do this? Edmund asked his absent High King. The stress of the whole situation was a bit overwhelming.
He squinted in the sun as he exited from the How. "Yes?" The question was directed to the surrounding Centaurs.
One of the eldest pointed in the distance. "White flags, your Majesty."
Edmund, peering intently in the specified direction, barely made out the glimmer of a flag. Listening carefully, he could even hear the pounding of footsteps.
"How many, noble Centaur?" Edmund knew of the creatures' keen hearing abilities.
"About ten, twenty at most, sir."
Edmund nodded in return.
"Do you think they're going to surrender and give us back Peter?"
Edmund frowned upon Lucy's seemingly naivety. "I don't think so, Lu."
Lucy sighed. "Neither do I."
"Lucy, I would like you to find Susan and go back into the How, in case something happens."
"But-" Lucy's protests were quickly shut off by a stern look from Edmund.
"Please, Lu. I don't want anything happening to you two. Oh, and make sure Caspian doesn't come out, either. I don't want him to antagonize the Telmarines."
If it wasn't for that helpless look…Lucy sighed again and took off.
In a few minutes, the small battalion of Telmarine soldiers came into view. The two frontrunners waved white flags of peace. Edmund's stomach dropped as he frantically searched for his brother, finding him not. There were no chained prisoners. No soldiers carried a bundled burden.
The troops stopped roughly one hundred yards short of where Edmund and other Narnians stood.
A familiar-looking Telmarine stepped forward. "I wish an audience with King Edmund," he announced.
"Who are you, uninvited Telmarine?"
"I beg your esteemed pardon, but I wish only to speak with King Edmund." The soldier scanned the party. "Is he notified of our arrival?"
Edmund stood at his full height, his nose rising ever so slightly. King Edmund spoke in a cool, controlled voice,
"The person to whom you so boldly address is King Edmund, appointed Narnian King by the Great Lion Aslan, may winter always cease at his triumphant roar." The formal introduction rolled off his tongue as easily as it had in the Golden Age.
The Telmarine seemed startled. It took him a moment to regain his bearings. "King Edmund, my apologies. I was expecting one much, well…" He faltered at King Edmund's quizzical brow.
"Hopefully you will agree that my age has little importance in this matter. Tell me, stranger, of your name and presiding officer."
The soldier gave a small cough. "I am Lord Sopespian, merely a humble servant under Lord Protector and King Miraz, may his days remain unnumbered."
King Edmund put on a face of mock confusion. "Please forgive me, Lord Sopespian, but if this Miraz is King of Narnia, and I do not knowingly uphold any relation to this man, what does that make me?"
Lord Sopespian, at a loss of explanation, opened and closed his mouth, dumbfounded.
"Never mind that. It holds little significance at this moment." King Edmund looked down upon Lord Sopespian indignantly and authoritatively, though he was over half of the Telmarine's age. "What is the purpose, Telmarine, of this, rather, untimely visit?"
Lord Sopespian seemed to have regained speech, though his poise still remained faulted. He pulled out a shield and a sheathed sword from underneath his cloak. In a somewhat clumsy motion, Sopespian drew out the sword.
Edmund gasped. "Where did you get that?" He demanded.
The golden hilt reflected in the high noon sun. Some sort of writing was emblazoned on the blade. Though he being too far away to actually see it, Edmund knew what the inscription read.
When Aslan bears his teeth, winter meets its death.
"I have come, King Edmund, bearing news of your brother, High King Peter, as he has so intrepidly proclaimed."
When Aslan shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.
It was Edmund's turn to be thrown off guard, though he couldn't say he hadn't been expecting it, and his heart gave an extra beat in his chest.
"Come, Lord Sopespian, to where we can discuss this in a more orderly manner." He felt a tugging loathing towards the Telmarine, but twenty-odd years of inopportune and irritable court-holdings had taught him to be polite in a very convincing way. Edmund, not being daft enough to invite the Telmarine into the How, gave orders for an assembly of matters of warfare, to be located at a grove of peach trees roughly two hundred yards east of the How.
In five minutes time, King Edmund, accompanied by four Centaurs, two Dwarfs, a Fox, a Bear, and a Minotaur, arrived at the designated spot. Shortly after, Lord Sopespian and a party of nine soldiers arrived also, eyeing the Narnian creatures fearfully.
"King Miraz wishes you to accept these as a token to show his longings for a smooth cooperation." Sopespian offered up Rhindon and the shield, which Edmund took eagerly. For fear that the Telmarine would change his mind, Edmund sent Peter's precious items with a Centaur back to the How, where they would be properly kept safe.
"Please, sit down." The Telmarines uneasily accepted Edmund's invitation.
King Edmund began the council with assurances of peace. "Telmarines and Narnians alike, we gather not to hold heated arguments and speak words of hate, but to discuss the foresaid affairs with dignity and civility. Now, we shall officially begin this meeting on the topic of the welfare of Narnia's High King Peter, whom, as of late, is being held, presumably unwillingly, behind the gates of the Telmarine castle. Lord Sopespian, you say you have word?"
"Yes. King Miraz has graciously offered the surrender of High King Peter on only two terms."
Edmund, concerned at the candor of the Telmarine, prompted Sopespian to further explain Miraz's demands.
"King Miraz offers High King Peter (in his current state) in exchange for Prince Caspian X (preferably alive and unharmed) and the total and complete surrender of the rebellious Narnians, including all titles of sovereignty thereof, to the rightful Telmarine and Narnian King, King Miraz."
Edmund was furious, outraged, by such a preposterous demand. "Narnia will certainly not agree to those conditions!" He nearly shouted, barely controlling his ever surmounting temper.
"Then, King Edmund," Sopespian continued with ease and confidence. "High King Peter is subjected to any amount of consequence, including death, until Narnia is persuaded to submit to the above stated terms."
After a pause, Sopespian nodded to his men and stood, the other soldiers following, and were off, the council officially over.
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"That's what I'm worried about," Lucy's timid voice broke the heavy silence.
"Sorry?" Peter turned, looking at his youngest sister most curiously.
"You all are acting like there's only two options: dying here or dying there."
"I'm not
sure you've really been listening, Lu."
"No, you're not listening!" Lucy responded firmly. "Or have you forgotten who really defeated the White Witch, Peter?"
Peter glared at the valiant queen, not necessarily in anger, but in frustration. "I think we've waited for Aslan long enough." His tone closed the matter.
That was only a day or so ago. Peter mulled over these words in his confinement, frowned upon his own stupidity and stubbornness, sprinting with all his might to the gate. The gate. That's all that had mattered. He had so needed to open the gate.
If only we had stayed back at the How. If only I had opened the gate sooner. If only… Peter's continued ranting gave him no consolation.
We can never know what could've happened. Aslan's wise words set alight a fire in his dark mind. A glimmer of hope, snuffed out as a fresh emotion flooded his already drained soul.
Anger.
"Why Aslan, why? Why has Narnia been infiltrated by this filth? Why did those poor creatures, your creatures, have to die? Why am I stuck here, undoubtedly destined to the same fate? Why, Aslan, why haven't you come?" His last question came in a childish whimper. Never had Peter felt so alone, so helpless. He wasn't used to the feeling.
His voice choked, a childish whimper escaped his lips.
And then he broke. For the first time quiet sobs racked his body, silent tears trailed down his dirty face.
"Aslan." He was too immersed in himself to cringe at the whiny, desperate tone his voice had taken on.
His arms, burdened by his entire body's weight, screamed in effort. Long ago, Peter tried to dismiss this pain, and by now it had subsided to a dull, throbbing ache. The tips of his fingers were turning purple, due to poor blood circulation.
Physical and emotional strain left him weak. He could no longer lift his head, raise a finger. He hadn't eaten, hadn't drunk in…. He could've been in here for hours, days, weeks. Peter no longer had any sense of time.
Just when he thought death rested a mere arm's length away, Peter heard the jingling of keys, the scraping of locks.
Peter felt the thumping of soldiers' boots as they crossed the threshold of his cell. They smelled of sea, rum, and old blood.
"Is he dead?" One asked tentatively.
"S'hope not," a second, gruff, voice boomed. This one spoke as if with authority over the other soldier, if not in rank then in age. "Fo' yers' and m'sake."
Peter offered nothing in affirmation or contradiction.
He winced as rough, calloused hands slapped his face. As he struggled to open his eyes, the Telmarine grunted, "He's alive, a'right. You, cut 'is chains."
A few moments later, Peter fell in a heap on the floor. His body, still for so long, ignited in newfound pain as blood surged through his stiff veins.
Peter bit back a gasp as his arm was seized. He was certain his shoulder was dislocated. The chains wore his wrists and ankles raw and stung as beaded sweat trailed into the open wounds.
"Buck up, bo'. Ther's a lot more comin' yer way; aft'r Miraz is done wit' ya."
The two soldiers drug Peter from the cell and through the lower parts of the castle. Every movement was agony. As he almost succumbed to blackness once more, the Telmarines stopped.
"Bring him in." A loathed voice commanded.
Peter heard the creaking of opening doors, and the surface in which he was being yanked across became much smoother.
"Thank you, gentlemen." He fell on the cold stone, face down.
"Peter, it's been so long.
"Do not think me heartless, boy. Do not think me cruel. I am only doing this to save my kingdom. To save my son. We are not all that different, Peter, for you would've done the same, had the circumstances been reversed."
"I am nothing like you," Peter spat in hushed whispered, managing still to convey the depths of his vengeance and hatred towards the Telmarine in those simple words.
"And what makes us so different, my little prince? Was it not you who broke into my castle, unmercifully killing the unsuspecting, innocent soldiers?"
"It is not your castle, Miraz. I only came to claim what is not yours."
"Oh, so then it is yours? You have been unseen in Narnia for more than 1300 years. You abandoned Narnia. You dare call me the enemy of Narnia, while you are the traitor. You deserted Narnia, boy; your time is over. Do not think for a moment this land is still yours."
Peter's glared matched Miraz's glower with resolute defiancy.
"I am High King over this land, as long as Aslan permits and my people remain loyal."
"Well, then, it seems as if we have finally reached a consensus. For it seems the ones which you hold dearest to your heart have turned on you."
Peter neutralized his look of alarmed confusion.
"It seems King Edmund does not wish for your return. Peter, let me debrief you of a little meeting I had with the 'esteemed' Edmund."
And so, Miraz relayed to Peter the council and its more general details. The latter stayed motionless, stoic and stony-faced.
"It is my deepest apology" – though his tone offered not the smallest sincerity – "but I must prove to your brother that my threats were not just empty formalities…"
