A/N: Happy Spring Break everybody! I just finished watching the BBC version of the Silver Chair. I'd never actually seen it before. Anyway, enough about me-on with the chapter! Please R+R!

Chapter 9

Lucy felt like a naughty child, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds, knowing that any moment one of the dryads would notice she was missing from their party and raise the alarm. She could almost hear Susan's voice in her head, asking why she would do something so foolish.

Lucy ignored the imagined admonition and kept walking through the densely populated forest, hand clutching her dagger so hard her knuckles were turning white.

She was wearing a warm fur around her shoulders, and long sleeves, as well as her winter boots. The young Queen had packed food enough for a few days in the bag slung over her shoulder.

She wasn't cold yet, in fact, she was quite warm, but she knew she soon would be, if the Witch's power grew any stronger. After all, Peter and Susan had already started feeling the cold when she left. Unless that had something to do with Edmund's sickness. She really only knew one thing anymore.

Winter was returning.

"Was that why Edmund was so ill?" Lucy wondered allowed.

The forest was dark, the only light come from the stars leaking through the tree branches, and Lucy stumbled over twigs and logs quite a few times. Her feet were much too loud for her liking, snapping broken pieces of wood beneath her shoes and squishing over moss. One of the Hounds had once taught her how to be silent in the woods if she were sneaking up on somebody, but right now she couldn't remember any of those lessons.

She knew it was only a matter of time before the dryads learned of her disappearance, and then they would send a report back to Peter and Susan and she would be in trouble. But Lucy had to try. She would not just sit by and do nothing while Edmund was missing.

It may have been foolish to go out and find him by herself, but Lucy didn't have a choice. Susan would never have allowed her to go with a hunting party.

Come to think of it, neither would Peter have.

It didn't matter. She would find Edmund and she would bring him home. She had to. Sure, the scouting parties were out, but they weren't having much luck.

Besides, Lucy knew where Edmund was, and a scouting party wouldn't be enough to bring him back from Jadis' castle. Especially if Jadis was there and very much, though impossibly, alive.

She didn't really have a plan. Just find Edmund and bring him home somehow. Or at least find him and let him know they would be together again soon.

The youngest Queen stopped for a moment to catch her breath. As she did, she heard the unmistakable sound of a branch snapping and glanced down to see what she had stepped on this time.

She was standing on moss. Someone was following her.

Lucy forced herself to remain calm, to act like she hadn't even noticed, but her dagger switched hands and, almost imperceptibly, she tensed, preparing for a fight.

She hadn't been in many fights in the last few years, preferring healing to fighting, and it was certainly a much safer occupation. She never went to war with Peter and Edmund, although even Susan sometimes joined them. Peter didn't want her exposed to that sort of thing any more than she had to be, and though Lucy found his over protectiveness somewhat annoying at times, she was secretly pleased.

But Edmund, dear, sweet Edmund, had insisted she stay in practice even when Susan and Peter gave in, forcing her to do several hours of arduous sword practice with him a week, and for the first time Lucy was glad for it.

Lucy forced her mind back to the situation at hand. "Who's there?" she called out into the still, windless night, irritated by the tremble in her voice. How young and weak it made her sound!

She was met only with silence.

Concerned now, and imagining all sorts of horrifying creatures ready to jump out and attack her, Lucy reached down into her knee-high winter boots, hand closing around the handle of Susan's horn.

She had swiped the horn from Susan's rooms before leaving, feeling only slightly guilty about it. She hadn't been planning on using it until she found Edmund, however, and then only to call for reinforcements.

Lifting the horn to her lips, Lucy prepared to blow it for help, when suddenly a voice called out, "Your Highness! What in Aslan's name are you doing out here?"

Lucy lowered the magical horn, sighing. "I'm not going back. You can't make me." She was aware of how childish she sounded, but at the moment she hardly cared. She was too scared for Edmund.

The head of her mice guard stepped into view, the light of the stars falling on him as he walked into a small clearing. He frowned at her. A dozen more mice soon joined him, and with sinking heart Lucy realized that her entire guard had been following her all this time.

"Go back to the dryads," Lucy ordered, knowing they wouldn't listen anyway.

The mice glanced at each other. Then, the head of her Mice Guard, Spikes, spoke up, sounding like he was trying hard not to laugh. "Your Highness, it is our duty to follow you, not the dryad healers. But perhaps you'd like to go back to them? They'll be worried soon."

Lucy made a split second decision then, returning the horn to her boot, wondering if Spikes had recognized it yet in the darkness. "No, I'm going on. You should go back."

The mouse shook his head obstinately. "My lady, pardon me, but it is our duty to stay with you and protect you. We will not leave you now. It would be dishonorable."

Lucy bit her lip, deliberating. "Very well. You may come with me, but we are going to find King Edmund, and nothing you can do will change my mind about that. And I'm not interested in whatever Peter and Susan warned you about letting me do anything foolish."

Spikes hesitated only a moment, glancing at the rest of the guard, and then turned back to her and smiled. "We will accompany you on this search for King Edmund, and will be proud to help you, Your Majesty. However, we will not allow you to do anything to needlessly endanger yourself, or we return to Cair immediately. We will not attempt a rescue without backup. The moment we locate Edmund, we will call for help."

Lucy smiled. Maybe this would go better than she had originally thought. "Then we'd better get going."

ǁ

The Witch leaned down before him, gracing him with an icy smile. She cupped his bloody chin in her hand, feigning concern. "Little one. So cold. Come and sit with me." She twisted his head savagely, and suddenly he was staring at the four thrones of Cair.

They were empty.

Desperately, Edmund called out for Peter, for Susan and Lucy. He was met with a deathly silence. "Aslan!" Even Aslan was gone. Either dead or not listening to him, he didn't know which, and frankly, it didn't matter.

A laugh washed over him, amused by his panic, milky and too sweet. "After all, I have no one else to be my little king."

"No," Edmund heard himself whisper, with more conviction than he truly felt. "They can't be dead. They can't-"

That laugh again, the laugh that would forever haunt him. "See for yourself, little traitor."

Her hand tilted his head, and suddenly he was staring at Lucy, only she was a stone statue now, standing in the little clearing where the Fox had been turned, her eyes wide, and Edmund could feel her fear even though she was no longer living. Susan was beside her, and even the Gentle Queen's arrows had been turned to stone in her own back.

One of them was protruding out of her chest, and Edmund could feel tears stinging his eyes.

Then there was Peter, but he wasn't a statue. He was lying on the Stone Table, and it was broken but still useable, gasping out his last breaths, the Witch's knife in his gut.

Edmund wanted to run forward, wanted to hold his brother and save him, but suddenly his feet couldn't move, as if they had been glued to the ground. He struggled, tripping forward and gasping as he hit water.

Icy cold water, gushing over his face hard enough to draw blood, it was so powerful. The Waterfall where his siblings had been attacked by wolves.

Then the water was gone, and he was sitting in a dense forest, tied to a tree. He tried to shout for help, but no sound would come out.

The Witch was standing before him, her knife raised high above his head, her eyes glinting maliciously. As she was preparing to bring it down, Edmund finally found his voice.

"How-?"

She paused, smirking at him. "How did they die, little king? Braver than you will. Why, you should know the answer anyway. You killed them."

He shook his head furtively. "I would never..."

"Oh, but you did, with your betrayal, you caused me to find them, and I stabbed the little High King with this knife, just as I am going to kill you."

The knife came plunging down then, and there was pain, unbelievable pain...

Edmund gasped, jerking forward in the chains holding him, heaving in heavy breaths as a wash of terror spread down his injured spine. Sweat broke out on his forehead, despite the freezing dungeon. He waited for a split second, waited for Peter to embrace him and tell him it was only a dream, but it didn't happen and he opened his eyes.

Edmund just barely closed his mouth, biting down hard on his lower lip, before a scream would have split from it.

The Witch could not hear him scream. She had not broken him yet.

Edmund groaned, sagging against the chains holding him. The Witch left him alone ever since their little chat, and he couldn't help but wonder why she had gone to all this trouble to find him only to ignore him.

Her words had threatened so much pain and horror, and he had been preparing himself for it ever since, but the Witch seemed content to leave him down here to rot.

Unless she really was planning on starving him to death. The ogre had fed him after the Witch ordered it, yes, but the food hadn't been fit for a dumb hound. Edmund still felt a little guilty for lapping it up so quickly, like a dog. And he hadn't been fed since, so he could only assume the Witch had decided he wasn't worth feeding.

At the mere thought of food, Edmund's stomach rebelled, and he bent over as far as the chains would allow, dry-heaving. Edmund glanced down at his hands, noticing something rather strange about them. They were turning a pale blue, from being kept down here in the cold for so long.

He suddenly remembered the last time he had eaten; it had been breakfast with his siblings.

Confusion raced through him, and for a moment he couldn't remember how he had gotten here of all places after breakfast. Maybe this was all just a dream, and he would wake up soon.

His siblings...

They were dead! They were killed by the Witch, they were dead, and it was all his fault. Somehow, though he couldn't remember how exactly, he had killed them. Peter, stabbed on the Stone Table meant for Edmund, Susan stabbed with an arrow and turned to stone, and Lucy...kind, beautiful little Lucy...

He felt tears rise in his eyes, unbidden. He should have stayed in bed like Peter and Susan had suggested. He had killed them with his stupidity. They were gone.

Why else was he still languishing away down here? Why wouldn't they have come to save him yet if they still could?

No, no they weren't dead, he tried to tell himself. That had only been a dream, another nightmare. If Peter were here to wake him up like usual, he would know for sure. But for now he needed to trust Peter's comforting words from all the times he had awoken from his nightmares.

"Only a nightmare, Ed. She can't hurt us anymore. Just breathe. Everything is all right."

There was a flash of pain from the lashes on his back, jolting him back to the present situation. He glanced over his shoulder at his bear back and wondered when the skin would turn blue from the cold. Soon the wounds would be grossly infected, and then she would return, decide he wasn't worth her time, and turn him to stone like she had his sisters.

It happened enough in his nightmares.

Edmund stiffened. He couldn't let his nightmares become reality. No matter what, he needed to stay alive. Peter was still out there somewhere, alive, and if Edmund could just hold on until he came, Peter would get him out of here. It was his new mantra, and he clung to it like a drowning man.

An image of the waterfall that had nearly claimed his siblings rushed before his eyes, and he clenched his eyes tightly shut.

Of course, not dying meant he would need to get those lashes treated soon.

"So this is it then?" he shouted out into the dungeon, not knowing if anyone could actually hear him. "Do you intend to let me die down here? Because I was under the impression that was supposed to happen at the Stone Table."

He was met only with silence, which, he had to admit, was what he'd expected. Though some small part of him, a part he was hesitant to name, was disappointed.

Then, the ice door to his dungeons slid open, albeit agonizingly slowly, and the dwarf who had whipped him earlier stepped in, mace in hand. His clothes were in tatters, which Edmund didn't remember being the case before, and his frizzy red beard hung down below the waistline of his trousers.

The red dwarf's nose wrinkled at the stench of the room, and he glanced down at the pool of frozen blood around Edmund's feet. Then he glanced up.

The dwarf stared at Edmund, distrust clear in his eyes. "What?" he snapped, his voice harsh and cruel. Edmund couldn't remember him speaking before, when he'd whipped him.

Edmund gulped, knowing the Witch had sent this dwarf in on purpose, and tried to find the courage to speak as he'd been able to do only a moment before. "I..."

The dwarf rolled his tiny, squinting eyes. "Well? Out with it, brat, I've other tasks to complete."

Edmund took a shuddering breath as another waft of pain shot down his spine. "I need you to do something about...my injuries. The Witch wouldn't be pleased if I died of infection before we ever reached the Stone Table, would she?"

The dwarf muttered under his breath, something to the effect of, "Well, I don't think any of the rest of us would mind."

Edmund ignored him.

"Her Majesty, the Queen-" Edmund snorted at that title, thinking how irritated Susan and Lucy would be to hear it, "-gave me no instructions about that."

"The thought probably didn't cross her mind," Edmund gasped out, "seeing as she's so busy trying to take over Narnia."

The dwarf grinned. "And succeeding, I'll say. Your precious High King has yet to find us here. I'd say he's rather daft for not being able to figure it out sooner than this, wouldn't you? Why, by the time he gets here, the Queen'll have an army fit to rival his."

Edmund bent over, the manacles around his wrists protesting by cutting into his skin, and he answered through clenched teeth. "Can you just...do something about it?"

The dwarf sighed dramatically, shifting on his stubby feet. "I will go and inform the Queen of your request. You may take her answer as a yes if I return tonight."

Before Edmund could protest, the dwarf turned on his heel and practically fled the room, the door slamming ominously shut behind him this time.

When he returned, mere minutes later, face grim, he was holding a bucket of water and some bandages. Edmund sighed in relief, unable to hold the noise back.

Complaining bitterly the entire time, the dwarf stepped behind Edmund and began washing his wounds. Edmund hissed, stiffening as the freezing water slapped his already cold skin. It stung. His back arched and the dwarf snapped at him to hold still.

When his lashes had finally been washed and the bandages applied, however crudely, Edmund sagged against his chains once more. The dwarf stepped away from him in disgust, taking the water and excess bandages with him.

Oh, how Edmund wished he could sit down! He was starting to lose feeling in his legs from having to stand up all this time, and his knees were getting weak, his feet scraping against the ground. However, he knew if stopped holding himself up by his legs, his arms would soon be very sore.

Only one thought kept him upright.

His siblings were still out there somewhere, safe. They had to be. Besides, if they were dead, the Witch would have come down here to gloat by now.

Determination swept through him, forcing out the images of his dreams, and, slowly, he straightened up once more.

It was only a whipping, and he had endured her Whip once before. He could do this. Until she pulled out her Knife and ran him through, he could face whatever tortures she threw at him, because he already had, in the nightmares that plagued him at night. And maybe, just maybe, Peter would rescue him from this one just as he had all the others.

ǁ

Peter was pacing, all action now, seemingly broken from his earlier stupor. He raked a hand through his shaggy blond hair, turning to Oreius. They were standing in a hastily erected war tent, just North of the Witch's castle. More than ten thousand Narnians were setting up tents just outside, in the glade they were effectively nestled into.

The tent was made of a dark red fabric, and was serving both as the war council and as Peter's private sleeping quarters. There were two talking hounds outside, standing guard despite the huge army surrounding the tent.

The Witch's castle, which they could just view from here, was oddly silent. If Peter didn't trust Oreius with his life, he might have questioned that she was even there at all. It looked abandoned, as it had for the past five years. Mostly melted, especially at the top, with those metal spires sticking out of the roof. Surely, if the Witch had returned, the castle would also have returned to its former glory, would it not? He knew how she loved a good performance.

But that was just it. She was not announcing her presence, and not a soul seemed to stir within or near her castle. Her magic, despite bringing on the cold, didn't seem to be restoring her castle, at least not on the outside. Something was suspicious here.

Oreius had advised they sneak around the Witch's castle and attack her from the Northern side, so as to surprise her.

Peter wasn't sure if anything could surprise her, but he had agreed with their first action of war against the Queen. He found he could not condone the second. "I will not full-on attack the Witch's castle and destroy it while Edmund is still in there."

Oreius and the rest of his war council-two more centaurs, a few unquestionably loyal dwarves, a falcon, and Edmund's friend cougar-all exchanged glances.

It was the cougar who broke the awkward silence first. "My lord, I would be the first to die for Edmund. He is my friend and king. But we do not even know if the Witch actually has him, and if she does, if she is keeping him there-"

"He's in there," Peter snapped, suddenly furious. "I know it." He still hadn't explained to them how he knew this; he couldn't bring himself to tell what he had done to the hag. Not even Oreius had found out yet, and he knew the tale would offer his own opinion credibility, but he couldn't. Couldn't bring himself to say what he had done in cold blood.

The falcon sighed. "Your Majesty, if we can take the castle and destroy the Witch and her army, we will be able to free Edmund easily."

"Not if she kills him while we're fighting her army," Peter shot back.

The war council exchanged those looks again, eyes saying to the High King what they could not. He may already be dead. Would you have us endanger Narnia for another moment in the hope that he is still alive after being a prisoner of the Witch?

Peter flopped down into a chair that was quickly pushed forward by one of the centaurs lest he miss it. He rubbed his temples, and Oreius stepped forward boldly.

"What would you have us do then, Your Majesty?" he demanded.

Peter let out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. "We wait on the attack." He barely registered the groans of his councilors. "At least until Lucy has returned to Cair and Susan comes to report that she has blown the horn."

Susan had stayed behind at Cair to await Lucy's arrival, and to keep at least one monarch at the stronghold of Narnia. She would blow the horn while she was there, and when Lucy arrived Susan would leave Cair with more soldiers and join Peter. Lucy, they'd decided for the youngest sibling in her absence, would stay at Cair. It would remain heavily guarded.

Assuming Lucy made it back okay. She hadn't returned on the night she was supposed to, and still wasn't there the next morning when Peter and the majority of the army had left. Peter swore, if anything had happened to her, too...

"Very well, Your Majesty, we will wait," the cougar spoke up, though he did not sound at all pleased.

Peter nodded once, and then gestured for them all to leave him alone and return to their duties. They did, however slowly, as if they were afraid to leave Peter's side. Oreius was the last to go, placing an arm on Peter's shoulder and squeezing it gently as he vacated the tent.

"Do not worry, Your Majesty. Aslan sees. Aslan knows. Edmund is in his paws, as is this army." Then he was gone, the tent flap flapping in the wind after him, and Peter was left alone to consider those words.

If only Oreius realized how little comfort those words brought, falling on deaf ears.

Peter did not know how long he waited there, in the silence, tortured. No one came in to bother him, and he could only assume they were heeding his wishes of putting off the attack. He knew it was useless, though.

Soon, Susan would be here, and then he would have no more excuses. He would be forced to attack the castle holding his brother, and he wasn't sure if he could do that.

The Witch would not wait to kill Edmund on the Stone Table if she were cornered this time. She may have before, may have taken the risk of letting him live to keep up appearances and abide by performances. But now, having already faced failure, she would not be so careless.

Suddenly, the flap of the tent flew open, and Peter was rescued from his dreary thought by a raven, flying in and perching on the armrest of Peter's chair, just in front of him. The raven waited patiently for Peter to acknowledge him, and when he did, spoke contritely.

"High King Peter, I bring a message from your sister, the Gentle Queen."

Peter nodded, running a hand through his wavy hair. What could have possibly gone wrong now? He watched as the raven unfurled his wings before speaking.

"Queen Lucy has not yet returned to Cair." Peter's breath caught. "The healers all returned this morning, but Her Majesty and her royal guard were not with them. Queen Susan has sent out a small patrol to search for her, but can hardly spare a single creature in her efforts to get the rest of the army together."

Peter took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. He stood, slowly, as if it caused him great pain to do so, and walked to the edge of the tent, lifting the flap and glancing outside at the men, training dutifully. The sound of swords clanging and weapons being forged was almost welcome, where a moment ago it had not been.

Oreius was out there, shouting instructions to his men. Peter really needed to look over the plans, make a solid one besides simply attacking the Witch. He turned back to the raven.

"But she has blown the horn, yes?" At least if she had done that, they could have hope, though he wasn't sure what their hope would be in. Aslan? More children from their world?

The raven glanced down, preening his feathers and not answering for a moment. When he did finally glance up, Peter knew before he spoke what he would say next.

"My King, Queen Susan has searched everywhere. The horn is gone."