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.

RECREANCY

Edmund could only stand there panting, feeling the bite of the winter wind that blew across the mountaintop, tufting his hair and freezing his cheeks. He could only stand and stare.

The tree.

The low, gnarled tree Aslan had sent him to, the one that bore the fruit that would save Peter's life, it was bare.

It was bare.

Edmund could only stand there, muscles wrenched, hands scraped and bruised from the long climb, sweat trickling down his back, down the side of his face. Or were those tears?

He blinked his stinging eyes. How easy it would be to sink to his knees, pound his fists on the ground and scream out his frustration. To curse Aslan for letting this be. It couldn't be. Aslan couldn't have sent him so far, Stormseer couldn't have been unaware–

"Aslan," he breathed, and he heard a familiar cackle.

"Looking for something, Little Prince?"

It was the Hag, the Hag whose testimony had helped condemn him to banishment. She came from behind the rocks, gimlet eyes black and taunting, and she was eating something, a fruit he did not recognize. It was the reddish-purple of a plum, but a bit larger than that, and textured like an orange. The Canicule, it must be.

The Hag leered at him and took another deep bite, letting the yellowish juice run down her withered chin. In her other hand she held a string bag filled with the remainder of her harvest. He looked from the bag and back to her, and she cackled again.

"We knew you'd be here eventually. Your Lion cheats. Always has. But this time we won't let Him. We were ready for Him this time." She wiped her scaly arm across her beaklike mouth. "Pity He sent you so far for nothing."

He stepped forward, hand on the hilt of the dagger at his waist, and she clutched the bag closer, clawed fingers puncturing one of the fruits, letting the precious juice drip down into the snow, every wasted drop perhaps one less breath left for Peter.

"Put it down," he said, forcing his voice into calm command. "Put it down, and I leave you your life.

Her black eyes flashed and she moved to the edge of the mountainside, holding the bag out over empty air.

"Lay down your dagger, traitor, or your brother's life goes into the chasm." She turned her head birdlike to one side. "But perhaps not. The tree will bloom again come summer. There will be more fruit . . . if by then the High King still has need of it."

Peter would never last till summer. Perhaps it was too late for him already.

You must not tarry.

"Wait. Please." Edmund held his hands up, away from his weapon. "Just tell me. What do you want for the fruit?"

"Ah," she croaked, "Now we come to it. There is something, one thing, that would persuade me to give you what you want, Little Prince. One simple thing."

"What do you want?"

OOOOO

"He's worse, isn't he?"

Susan watched the Cherry Dryad healer as she pressed her delicate fingers to Peter's wrist. Cerise's eyes were fixed on his still face, her expression troubled. Susan would almost have said grief stricken.

"I fear so, My Queen. I had thought–"

She broke off, lips trembling, and Susan could only stare back at her, too numb anymore to feel the pain those words should have brought.

"And there's nothing to be done?"

How many times had she asked that now? About everyone she loved? About everyone she had lost?

Cerise squeezed Peter's hand and tucked it back under the coverlet. "There is one thing I might yet try, Your Majesty."

"What?"

The Dryad glanced at Susan and then fixed her eyes again on Peter's face. "Give me some time, Lady. I will do what I am able."

When she was gone, Susan stroked back the lank hair from her brother's forehead and then touched her fingers to the heavy bundle that lay in the bed next to him. She had found it earlier when her earring had come loose and skittered under his bed. Puzzled, she had dragged the bundle out and unwrapped it and then wept to see what it was. How he could keep it, she didn't know, but then again, it was something he would keep, even if it was torture to him every moment he looked at it. He must have kept it hidden, grieving over it ever since–

She had wrapped it up again, meaning to put it back where she had found it, but then she had realized Peter was looking at her, looking at it, half-coherent, reaching desperately for that unwieldy bundle and refusing to calm himself until she gave it to him. Then he had clutched it in his arms and slept again. She hadn't taken it from him since.

She wandered onto the balcony now and stared out over the beach. Peter. He wasn't getting well. It was no use pretending he was. She had seen miracles in her time, but evidently her store of them had run dry. She would soon be alone. No, she was alone already.

Peter wasn't going to hold her in strong, comforting arms. Edmund wasn't going to make her laugh with some scathingly witty remark. And Lucy–

Susan caught her breath.

"Lucy."

She leaned over the stone railing, thinking her mind must have finally snapped.

"Lucy! Lucy!"

She picked up her heavy black skirts and ran back into the room.

"Peter! Oh, Peter, wake up!"

He didn't stir, and she rushed past him, into the corridor, calling for one of the guards to stay with the High King and then scurrying down the great marble stairway, down into the murmuring crowd of creatures in the courtyard.

"Lucy!" she cried, and Cronus, the Faun Chamberlain, stared at her, his usually ruddy face blanched.

"Queen Susan! Two of the guards claim to have seen–"

"I saw her! I saw her!"

Susan ran past him, through the grass and out to where she could again see the beach.

To where she could again see Lucy.

Flanked by a pair of Satyrs, she stumbled as she walked, blonde hair tangled as seaweed down her back, sodden dress pulled off her shoulder on one side, sea-stained velvet skirts clinging to her trembling legs. Susan ran to her, black satin slippers lost in the wet sand and tears streaming down her face.

"Lucy." She wrapped her younger sister in her arms, pressing kisses to her wet hair. "You're– you're alive!'

Lucy smiled vaguely, clinging to her. "It seems I am."

"Come on. Come inside."

Susan turned her towards the castle, supporting her as they walked through the growing crowd of smiling, cheering creatures.

"Peace, good friends," Cronus said, raising his hands. "Allow the Queens to retire for now. We rejoice at the return of our Valiant Lady, and it is certain she has a tale to tell, but we must possess ourselves in patience until she is ready to tell it."

Susan gave him a grateful smile and hurried her sister inside. She gave instructions to the Raccoon and the Crow who served as Lucy's ladies-in-waiting to prepare a bath and fresh bedding for their mistress's return, and then she hugged Lucy again.

"I thought we'd lost you, Lu. They told us–"

"Truly, Lady, it is a miracle." Sir Gilfrey hurried up to them and brought Lucy's hand to his lips. "All Narnia gives thanks for your safe return."

Susan was surprised to see a slight smile on her sister's face rather than the faint annoyance usually there when the Knight spoke to her. Gil looked at Lucy, his expression puzzled, almost wary, but she only smiled still and thanked him.

"Your ship, Lady, and all the crew were lost? We could only assume–"

Lucy took his arm for support. "I– I don't really know what to say. I was taking a nap in my cabin and then the storm came up and that's all I can tell you until I was on the beach." Again she smiled, a placid smile that didn't seem quite like her. "My pretty little Dove is gone. And Peter made her so beautiful for me."

Over her head, Susan glanced at Gil, but he only returned a slight, cautioning frown.

"You should rest, Lady," he told Lucy. "Everything is well now."

"I have to tell Peter what happened."

"Peter's sleeping, Lu," Susan said. "You can see him later."

"But he'll be worried."

"He's been sleeping since you left, dear. He doesn't even know about the ship."

Something flickered in Lucy's eyes at that, but then she only sighed and smiled wistfully. "She was such a trig little thing. I hope he won't be cross to know I've lost her."

None of them said anything more. Gil escorted them to Lucy's chamber door and left them with a bow and more expressions of his delight to know that the Valiant Queen was restored to them. After Cerise declared she was uninjured and in need of nothing but rest, the ladies-in-waiting helped Lucy out of her ruined clothing and into the bath they had prepared. Susan sat beside the tub and carefully combed the tangles out of her fair hair.

"Are you sure you're all right, Lu?" Susan laid a shining, straight plait of hair over her sister's slender white shoulder and began smoothing the last snarled strand. "Don't you remember anything? How you got back home?"

Lucy played with some of the bubbles floating on the surface of the water. "I remember lying down to take a nap. And I remember wishing I had brought my boots with me. And after that, I was on the beach."

Susan gave her shoulder a pat. "I'm sure it will come back to you in time."

"When can I see Peter? He'll be worried about the ship."

"No he won't, Lu. He'll just be glad to know you're home again." Susan helped Lucy out of the bath and into a clean nightgown. "For now, you need to sleep."

One of the Naiad ladies-in-waiting turned back the coverlet on the bed, and Susan made her sister lie down. Then, when Lucy's eyes were closed and she was quiet, Susan went to her own chamber to change into fresh clothes herself. Her black shoes were buried somewhere on the beach and her black skirts were wet and sandy. Besides, what need was there for mourning now? At least not for a while yet.

OOOOO

"How fares my lady your sister, My Queen?" Sir Gilfrey took Susan's arm as she walked down the corridor towards Peter's quarters. "Has she told you anything about how she escaped death? Truly it cannot be by any common means, and I am most eager to hear the tale."

"She doesn't remember anything really. I don't know. Maybe she was under the water too long or hit her head or something. Cerise didn't find anything wrong though. Maybe it's just the shock of being in such a terrible situation. Still, that's not like her at all. Nothing ever fazes her."

"Indeed, no," Gilfrey said. "It is hardly the way of our vivacious Queen to be so subdued. I pray, as she is of the fair sex, that this mishap at sea when added to the many difficulties all of Your Majesties have suffered these past weeks has not proved too much for her delicate mind."

Susan stopped where they were. "Oh, Gil. You don't think she's become . . . unhinged, do you?" She clung more tightly to his arm. "I couldn't bear it, Gil. I couldn't."

"Dear Lady." He drew her into his embrace, pressing the tenderest of kisses to her temple. "You have endured more than any lady should have to bear alone. Have you thought again about what I asked of you? Even with the consent of the High King, there are those who find my poor efforts to manage things in his stead an affront. I know our good General and others have expressed their concerns. Without a more tangible show of your support, I cannot do all I wish to ease your burdens."

"I– I don't know, Gil. You're terribly sweet, and you don't know what it means to me that you've done so much to help. But I don't think I–"

She blushed and looked away.

"What, Dear Queen?"

"I couldn't be a wife to you, Gil. Not the way I ought to be. With everything that's happened, I couldn't think of any sort of . . . romantic attachment. If I said yes to you, it would be purely for the sake of keeping the kingdom running smoothly, and you deserve more than that." She looked up again, eyes brimming with tears. "After all that's happened, I just– I don't have anything left. There's nothing inside me to give. To you or anyone."

"Good Lady, you do me wrong. Know that I could never ask of you what you did not willingly offer. You are very dear to me, Lady, as my Queen and as the most precious treasure of my heart. It would be the greatest of honors if you would allow me to take you into my protection as only a husband can. With all reverence, I pledge I will ask no more than that."

She caressed the handsome curve of his cheek. He was like Peter in so many ways. So kind and thoughtful. So reliable.

"I will consider it, Gil. I promise."

He left her at Peter's door with another kiss of her hand and the wish the she would find the High King greatly improved. It took her a moment to realize that the Gryphon on duty outside the door was the same one she had left inside looking after Peter.

The Gryphon bowed his head at the displeasure on her face and then glanced towards the door. "I was dismissed, My Queen."

Susan stormed into Peter's room, wondering who would dare countermand her order, and then she stopped short. Peter lay there as he had before, feverish and still, but he looked more at peace than she had seen him for some little while. Next to him, cuddled close, was Lucy in her white nightgown, looking as sweet and untroubled as she had been when they first came to Narnia.

"Lucy." Susan shook her gently. "Lucy."

Lucy's lashes fluttered and she opened her eyes. "Hmm?"

"What are you doing in here? You're supposed to be sleeping."

"I was sleeping." Lucy smiled fuzzily. "I needed to see Peter. He doesn't know about The Dove."

"Lucy, please." Susan swallowed hard, trying to keep from crying again. "It doesn't matter about The Dove, all right? Peter won't be cross with you about it. It wasn't your fault."

"He's still sick, isn't he?"

Susan nodded. Wasn't it obvious enough?

Lucy only snuggled up next to Peter, smiling still, and then she noticed the unwieldy cloth-wrapped bundle on his other side. "What's that?"

"Please, Lu, don't."

"But what is it? He couldn't be very comfortable with that thing there. Can't you take it away?"

Susan gave her a brittle smile, determined not to cry. "He gets restless if I do. It's better to leave it."

"But what–"

Tears sprang to Susan's eyes. "It's Edmund's sword, Lu. Oreius broke it when he was sent away, and Peter kept the pieces. Edmund–"

Her voice faltered. She never spoke their younger brother's name. Not anymore. Not in Peter's hearing. She wasn't sure he could hear her now, of course, but she could see his brow was suddenly creased, his body tense, his breathing more rapid. He was dreaming, fighting another nightmare. Fighting regrets. Grief. Guilt. They had done what had to be done, hadn't they? Why should anyone feel guilty?

Murmuring something unintelligible, Peter patted the bedding blindly until he found the bundle and pulled it close again, curling his body protectively around it.

"Oh, Susan." For the first time today, Lucy looked upset, but then that docile expression returned to her face, and she laid her head on Peter's shoulder. "Don't be sad, Peter. Everything will be all right when Edmund comes home."

This time, Susan could barely hold on to that brittle smile. "You go to sleep now, Lu. I'll– I'll be back soon."

And she hurried from the room, unable to bear any more.

OOOOO

The inside of the pavilion was dim and cool, a place of quiet peace apart from the busyness of the camp. There was an indefinable richness here, a wild, fresh sweetness as well as a weighty solemnity, as if sunlight had a taste and pure gold a fragrance.

The Great Lion sat in the very center of the pavilion, majestic and unmoving.

"As you say, he is your lawful prey." His all-seeing eyes gleamed in the half-light. "As the statute was written on the fire-stones on the Secret Hill and engraved upon the scepter of My Father, the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea."

"Then you agree his blood is my property. You dare not deny me."

"Dare not?" The words came out in a low growl, the golden eyes narrowing. "And who are you to say what I might dare?"

"This law is the foundation upon which the very world was built, written by your own Father. Will you work against Him?"

"No." Again the Lion growled softly. "No, that can never be. Your claim is just. The treason gives you the right to blood."

"It does, and I shall have it. I must have it."

"You must," the Lion agreed. "And you shall. It cannot be denied."

"Then we have nothing more to say."

"No, there is more." Aslan drew a great breath. "I offer you a substitute."

"Substitute? What substitute? What will buy a traitor's blood?"

"My own."

There was a moment of stunned silence, broken only by the Lion's half-growled breaths.

"Willingly," He added at last. "I will give myself to you in exchange for his freedom. Innocent blood in the place of a traitor's. This the law allows, and in it the law would be fulfilled."

Again there was a long silence.

"Why? He has betrayed you. You chose him and called him to rule this place as King. You placed your trust in him, and yet he betrayed you. For trifles. For favors and riches and power. For sweeties. And you would give your blood for his? Why?"

Aslan's golden eyes were filled with grief and pain, and yet, more than with these, they were filled with infinite love. "Because he is mine."

"You are wrong." The words came in a low hiss followed by an almost-manic laugh. "He is mine. I refuse your offer. He is the traitor, and his is the blood that I will shed."

With that, Peter stalked out of the pavilion and into the garish sunlight.

There in the grass, with Lucy and Susan shielding him in their arms, knelt Edmund. Though the girls were young again, as young as when they had first stepped through the wardrobe and into Narnia, Edmund was not. He was his proper age, turned twenty, proud king and proven warrior, kneeling there in the blistering heat, awaiting his fate.

From what seemed a great height. Peter reached towards him. His hand, he realized, was deadly white, his fingers long and elegant and strong, so strong as he seized his brother by the front of his doublet and pulled him unresisting first to his feet and then off the ground entirely. Their sisters clung to him, weeping and pleading, trying to hold him where he was, but Peter was too strong for them all.

"We have a traitor in our midst," he said, his voice carrying cold throughout the camp. "For every treachery, I have the right to a kill."

Susan released her hold on Edmund and sank down into the grass, still weeping but no longer resisting. Lucy only tightened her hold.

"Peter, no. It's Edmund. Our Edmund. Your Edmund."

"Yes. My Edmund." With one deadly white hand, Peter pulled her away and flung her onto the ground next to Susan. "Every traitor belongs to me."

Then he looked at his brother. Edmund only stared back at him with pleading resignation in his dark eyes, and Peter glared down on him.

"You, boy, will die on the Stone Table. As is tradition."

Lucy scrambled back to her feet and reached her little hands up to his face. "Please, Peter. Please wake up."

He drew a sharp breath. The sun-scorched camp was gone, and the only light was the bits of winter sun that peeped around the edges of his curtains. Lucy was grown up again, and she leaned over him, her hands cool on his skin, her blue eyes full of worry.

"It's all right, Peter. Shh, it's only me. It's all right."

Heart pounding, he could only stare as she blotted the sweat from his face with her gentle fingers.

"Where's–? Where's Edmund?"

"Shh. We'll talk about it later."

"Where is he?"

He took hold of her arm, startling her or hurting her, he didn't know which, and she made a little squeak of a gasp. But she didn't answer him. She only looked at him, eyes full of tears.

"He's gone, isn't he?" He huddled against her. "I don't want to. I don't want to, Lu. Please, I'm not like her. I don't want to hurt him."

"Shh. You were only dreaming. It's all right."

She put her hand over his eyes, gently pressing them shut, and he was too weary to struggle for more than a moment.

It was still dark, but this was a different sort of blackness. Peter could feel the heat almost suffocating him. Blazing torches. Stifling night air. The press and stench of unwashed bodies, inhuman bodies, bodies that slunk and skulked and slithered. Creatures of darkness. Creatures of evil. His creatures. Somehow he knew they belonged to him.

He peered into the darkness of the trees that surrounded the clearing, waiting. Waiting. Impatient now. He had the right. The debt was owed, and he would have the promised price.

At last, from the darkness before him, there rose a low murmur. The crowd parted, and a tall, slender figure came into view, head bare but held high, dark eyes wide and uncertain, determined, lips and jaw set with purpose. Around him, the murmurs rose to taunts, insults vile and cutting. Traitor. Betrayer. Cursed of Aslan. But the object of their derision took no notice, paid no heed to the words or even the glancing blows hurled at him. He merely kept his eyes on Peter's, searching, uncomprehending. And Peter stood on the Stone Table above him, watching, triumphant.

"So you come."

There was something aflame in those dark eyes, something beyond fear and uncertainty.

"I follow my High King."

"Even if that leads you here?"

"Even so."

Peter stood for a moment, fixing him with hard eyes, and then he held out his hand. Edmund hesitated and then handed Peter his sword, the broken remains of his beloved sword. Peter took them, sticking the hilt piece in his belt but holding the other end, the pointed end, the razor-edged end in his bare hand, cutting himself in order to wield it.

"Come now." Peter gestured to the Table, ancient place of Deep Magic and sacrifice, and then he looked to his minions. "Bind him."

At his command, a host of misshapen creatures swarmed over the table, seized the victim and dragged him to his knees.

"No!"

Edmund struggled against them, and Peter put up one hand. The creatures stilled, not releasing their hold, but no longer attempting to tie their prisoner. Edmund struggled free of them, gaining his feet once more.

"There is no need. Say what you would have me do, My King."

Peter smiled, and he could feel the greed in that smile, the twisted pleasure in it. He would have his price. He would have blood.

"Come then," he said once more, this time gesturing at the Table on which he stood.

With his eyes still fixed on Peter's, Edmund came forward, came until he stood face to face with him, brown eyes on blue, dark on light, warm on cold.

"Peter," he murmured, a questioning plea in his eyes, but Peter only gestured to the Stone beneath them, his hand white and strong and deadly.

Edmund sank to his knees.

"It is the law." Peter laid a heavy hand on the bowed head. "It is just, and you are the Just King."

He twined his long white fingers into the thick black hair, pulling Edmund's head back, baring his pale throat for the broken blade. Peter could feel him trembling, but he did not struggle. He only looked at Peter, waiting. Waiting.

Peter twisted his neck more, hurting him, he knew, but still Edmund only waited. Waited and trembled and watched him with those searching dark eyes.

"What?" Peter demanded. "Is this not just? Blood payment for treason. It is the law. Is it not just?"

He forced Edmund's head back yet more, wrenching a low groan from him.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" Peter demanded.

"Yes, it is just."

"So says the Just King. So says the traitor."

"I'm not what I was."

Edmund's voice was soft and sure, and Peter felt his own hand tremble. It was true. Aslan had– No, Edmund was an Adder. He was an Adder still.

"I suppose we can't help being what we are," Peter hissed, brandishing the already bloody blade before the dark, pleading eyes.

"I would never hurt you."

Peter pressed the blade against his brother's throat. "No more than we can help doing what we must."

Edmund reached one desperate hand up to him, catching his sleeve. "Peter, I lo–"

A quick flick of his wrist was enough. The hand on his sleeve convulsed once, and then his brother sagged against him, his breath warm against Peter's white hand and then gone.

He lay on the unyielding stone, lay in the life blood that pooled under Peter's boots. There was no magic deeper still to bring the dead to life again. There was only the law and the blade and the blood. There was only Edmund dead at his feet and by his hand, but his hand wasn't white anymore. It was red. With Edmund's blood and his own, it was red.

And his creatures, unnatural and deformed, swarmed around him, howling and gibbering their delight at what he'd done, hot and foul and stifling, pressing him down and down into the blood and into the heat and into the darkness. And Edmund was dead and could not pull him back.

OOOOO

"What do you want?" Edmund asked again.

The Hag took another bite of the piece of fruit she held. Even over the stench she carried, he could smell the juice, a summery, fresh scent somehow like the fragrance that clung to the Lion's mane.

"What, Little Prince? For this rare and precious commodity? What could you give?" She swayed towards him. "What could a traitor give?"

"What do you want?"

"For your brother's life? For the life of our pretty High King? What will you give? The two of you and those wretched girls, you dared supplant the White Lady. Do you think I do not know that if the High King dies, you will not be a long while in this world? Do you think I do not know that, without their brothers, the Queens, too, would fall? And so my Lady is avenged."

"Please, no." Edmund's voice shook. "Just tell me. I'll give you anything."

"Anything, Little Prince? Truly?"

He nodded. She had hated him enough to lie about him. She no doubt hated him enough to kill him. It would be worth it. For Peter.

"Anything."

"You're a traitor," she hissed. "You're a cheat, just like your Lion."

"No, I swear. Anything in my power to give, I'll give it. I swear by Aslan."

She only scoffed. "That name means nothing to me."

"On my brother's life then."

"Is that not what we play for already, Little Prince?" She swung the bag of fruit before him, taunting him again. "But very well, here is my price. I will give you this fruit and ask no more of you than a few little words."

He looked at her warily. "What words?"

"Your High King's life will be spared. All you must do is renounce the Lion."

Author's Note: Thanks to OldFashionedGirl95 for brainstorming and reviewing and especially for "the bundle," which was her brilliant idea. And to Laura Andrews for being so sweetly willing to lend her help. You're both the best!

–WD