Whumptober 2020 Chapter 1, a chronicles of narnia fanfic

Chapter 1: Collapsed Building

Theme: Running Out of Time

Prompt: Collapsed building

Warning: This is major, major angst and filled with tension and suspense. It might be triggering for some people, so please, approach with caution.

Edmund is groggy. His limbs feel boneless, skull too heavy, heart as if it is waiting to stop beating, and fingers utterly numb. His skin is prickling with the cold. The ends of his hair falling over his face feel like poisoned needles. The blood in his veins is freezing. His chest feels constricted, blocked, crushed. His breaths are pants. The ferocious bubbling of the water further increasing the pounding inside his skull. He flutters his lashes but they feel as if they've been glued, refusing to give him even a glimpse of where he is. He tries to wiggle his fingers but then realizes he can't even feel them. Moving would do no good. He's trapped. The word hits him like a brick. He gives the faintest smile, provoking the only movement in his muscles. Oh, he remembers.

The mine.

The collapse.

Trapped.

That leaves one question: why is he this cold? And is it water that he feels tickling his feet, bubbling underneath them, piercing his skin? It's difficult to determine his position with his eyes still closed. But he knows he's sitting. The weight on his chest then? It's concentrated. Narrow. Not like a rock. A boulder. Trapping him where he is. And his hands, why aren't they free? He wishes he could laugh. They are free. Just useless because they're paralyzed. Hanging at his sides, feeling extremely stiff and cold. Cutting in the cold. Their weight is suddenly apparent. He feels them tugging at his shoulders, pulling them down. He feels slumped. Utterly helpless. The burbling of water is suddenly more violent. Furious.

Time.

He's running out of time.

And as the water rushes in through the small opening, now raising to the level of his knees, Edmund only wonders: where's Peter?

Peter, unknown to Edmund, is currently tapping his foot on the stone ground, sitting on the small, very stiff and uncomfortable chair restlessly, listening with unheeding ears to the master dwarf who is rambling on about the different kinds of metals, and how there is a shortage of Iron in the smithy. Peter desperately wants to roll his eyes. But knowing it would be a rude gesture and would provoke anger in the already frustrated and red dwarf, he fights the urge. The dwarf tugs at his long, grey, and uncombed beard—a nervous habit—and eyes him suspiciously. Peter stares back, cocking one eyebrow. The dwarf shrugs and goes back to his rambling.

He rants on for about fifteen minutes, counting the numerous problems of the smithy on his fingers (they're not really problems to Peter. How does a smithy run out of water when it's built on a river's bank?) But Peter holds his tongue as the master dwarf tells him about the incorrigible children of his clan that make his work all the more tedious and near-impossible to do. This, too, fails to interest Peter and he merely leans back in his chair, mentally cursing the blasted thing for giving him an aching back. He might remain hunched for the rest of his life solely because the dwarfs lack skills in carpentry. The dwarf's words are now incoherent to Peter. He hears them, but his mind does not bother to decipher them.

But when Peter hears a particular sentence, the words making his throat close up and heart clench in his chest, thumping ferociously against his ribs, he jolts up from the chair. The relief of leaving the cursed thing is ignored as he advances on the dwarf, making him stagger back, staring nervously with eyes that reflect intimidation. Peter breathes out once, futilely attempting to calm down. His heart is ready to lurch out his chest, his words are slurred, let out fast enough to scramble them. "What did you just say?"

The dwarf stutters at first, gasping as he struggles to find the right words. "I…I was just telling you, my King, that the mines need to be renovated. Three of them collapsed this past month."

For a second, Peter stands there, frozen, body rigid, mind numb. Time has stopped, the world now grey and wet, the panic seizing his heart as he struggles to look past the words. The words. The horrible, horrible words. The dwarf may as well have presented him with his brother's body. Peter gives himself a shake, internally slapping himself for mourning for someone who isn't dead. Three mine collapses do not mean that the one Edmund had insisted to see for himself had come down as well, trapping everyone in, crushing and squashing their bodies as they struggle to breathe, feeling the light leave them as they count their last moments. Peter actually slaps himself this time. You bleeding idiot!

He gulps, finding it hard to form the words, his throat dry and constricted. His heart feels tight. "My brother…" he finally manages, his tone serious and almost threatening, "…has gone to visit one of your mines. The one closest to the mountain? Is it safe? Will he be safe?" The last four words are yelled out, starting the dwarf. He flinches, pulling at his beard, ruffling a hand through it, staring with the same scared, apprehensive eyes. The sharp glint in his eyes indicates something. Guilt. Sorrow. Regret. And Peter's nails dig deep enough into his palm to draw blood; he hisses, both in warning and in pain.

"I'm sorry, sire."

The whole world shatters and drops to the ground.

Edmund's mind finds the whole situation amusing, unlike his heart which wholly disagrees, since the water's cold stings are now making it singe, it's burning inside him, struggling to keep beating. But his mind—his mind thinks Edmund has found a rather convenient way to die. It wonders if the cold will get him first, or will the water drown him, leaving nothing but the bubbles of air floating to the surface? He doesn't know, but thinks neither is a particularly pleasant way to die. But maybe—just maybe, it doesn't have to be this way. Where are you, Peter?

"Let me go!" Peter yells, thrashing, twisting, lurching, doing everything to struggle against the dwarf who Peter wants to throttle at the moment.

The sight of a collapsed mine is never a pretty one but this is especially nerve-racking, absolutely grotesque, and gut-clenching. The small opening to the mine has been crushed, hidden beneath the stone debris. The mountain itself has been brought down, the solid rocks blocking the path of the river. That's why the water is rapidly pouring in through the openings under the mountain, into the mines, where his brother is.

And that is why Peter growls again, desperation clear in his voice, "Let me go!" He shakes the dwarf's hands off of himself and leaps, only to be stopped by the master dwarf who has the audacity to step in front of him, blocking his path.

"Sire, please! It would Narnia no good to lose both her Kings!"

The words rip apart the last string of control Peter had left, the rage dissolves the panic and desperation, leaving him with only a burning fury in his chest. He still keeps his nerves under control, suppressing the wish to strangle the dwarf. "You will step out of my way, Harbet. It is an order. You dare not object." Peter's eyes must reflect his thoughts, menacing as they are, for the dwarf gulps and backs away, clearing his path.

Peter sprints in the direction of the mine, to his brother, his guards right on his heels. I'm coming, Ed. I'm coming.

Time, as trivial as it may seem, is a powerful thing. You count the seconds, the minutes, the hours as Time passes, flowing through you, playing with you, slowly maddening you. You wait and wait and wait. Endlessly, you endure the wait, feel the loop repeat itself. And now as the water rises, coming upto his throat, Edmund counts. He counts the seconds he has left, while still clinging to the flicker of hope. To the faith in his brother.

When the water touches his chin, his mind whispers mockingly, ten.

"Keep going! He's in there!" Peter shouts at the guards, at the dwarfs, shoving through the debris. The larger beasts are helping take down the boulder and rocks, the smaller ones digging through the mud. Some are yelling for their King, for the lost workers, their names lost in the clamour of metal clinging, rocks thrown. As much as he wants, he can't care for those names. His mind repeats only his brother's.

The water's sweet taste. It's in his mouth now. Edmund took just a little bit in, wanting to quench his thirst. He doesn't know how he found the strength to open his mouth at all. His lips are pursed together now, but some of the muddy yet sweet water seeps through, tempting Edmund to open his mouth once more, knowing he would not be able to close it this time. But he fights it, fights death, and holds on. Trusting his brother to find him. For he will find him. Dead or alive.

As the water rises, now above his lips, he hears a taunt, seven.

Peter's hands are bleeding now, scraped and bruised, tired. He hisses and continues to dig his way to his brother.

Then he hears it.

"Over here! King Edmund is here!"

Edmund thinks he hears a voice, recognizes his name being called out, the water vibrates in the sound, ripples reverberating through it, giving his skin a tickling sensation. Edmund squirms like a helpless insect, but the boulder holds him in place, firm and determined. It will not let him go.

The water reaches his nose. Four.

"Ed! Hold on, Edmund! I'm coming!"

Edmund is still holding his breath, lungs aching for air, burning, stinging in his chest. His tongue yearns to taste the sweet water again. But Edmund doesn't open his mouth. Nor does he breathe in. He holds on. But his eyes are under the water now. His mind laughs at him, openly jeering him.

Three, it says, sneering.

"Faster!" Peter yells, feeling his own breaths become gasps. But he keeps going. "Edmund!"

His hair is wet now, ends dripping with water, the sharp needles are now soft, caressing his forehead, inviting him into peace, into oblivion. Edmund wants to go. But he holds on. He hears Peter yell for him. And he holds on. Rays of light shine through the blue water, Edmund's tears mix into the water as he sees Peter's face come into view, rippling and wavy. His chest hurts, both with the cold and the ache to be in his brother's arms right then.

But as he is fully submerged in the cruel, sweet water, his mind hisses, two.

"Edmund!" Peter screams when he sees his brother. Drowning.

"Get him out!"

The last thread, the glimpse of faith, the endurance, all fade away with the light as Edmund's eyes close, taking him into utter darkness. He feels the weight on his chest lift, someone gripping his limp arms, flaying them, lifting them.

It's time, his mind says. One.

Edmund opens his mouth.

Peter drags his brother's lax body out of the water, collapsing with him on the muddy ground. They've all formed a circle around him, watching anxiously, feeling their hearts wrench because the younger King is blue. And he clearly isn't breathing. Peter lifts himself off the ground, crouching over his brother, yelling pleading words at him. But he remains motionless and Peter begins the compressions with more force than was strictly necessary. Because he's afraid. Scared. So scared.

"Come on, Ed! Come on!" he screams, practically crushing his sternum. He matches his lips to his, pinching his nose, breathing in air. Then continues the compressions, counting to thirty. "Edmund!"

One. Two. Three, his mind mutters in time with the compressions. Reaching thirty, he breathes into his mouth again. Then back to the compressions. He notices how blue Edmund's lips are.

"Edmund!" the scream is terrified, hoarse, cracking with tears.

He doesn't know how many times he has repeated the process when Harbet plants a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. "Sire…"

"No!" Peter yells at him, making him flinch away. With tender eyes, he turns back to his brother. "Come on, Ed, please!" he begs, pressing his lips to his again, breathing air into his lungs. Then he pulls away, beginning the compressions again.

"Edmuuuund!"

There is a cough, water splattering out, and the shattered pieces start picking themselves again. Peter stares unmoving as the younger boy sucks in air, gasping desperately. The sick blue colour disappears, leaving only the natural paleness of his skin. Some pink rushes to his cheeks, and his flutters his eyes open. The slits reveal hazed irises, an unfocused gaze. Peter scoops him up, receiving an 'oomph!' from his brother. He knows he's trembling, just as Edmund is, but he lets his brother's warmth calm him. He holds him close to his chest, pressing kisses to his hair, his temple and cheeks. Then buries his face into his shoulder, hiding like a scared child. Because that's what he is. A scared child.

"Peter?" Edmund gasps.

"Yeah?"

"If you ever, ever kiss me again, I will strangle you to death."

Peter only cries, unable to suppress the chuckles.

Fin

Author's note: So, I recently found out about Whumptober, and was compelled to write for it. I'll write for selective prompts. Maybe seven or eight. It'll be cross-posted on Tumblr three days later, and hopefully, I got the tags right and they'll archive this. And this is not Slash! No offence to anyone, but I find Slash Fics repelling and am not interested in reading or writing them whatsoever, especially in sweet, sweet Narnia.

And I've decided to update Black Justice every Wednesday! So, stay tuned! And that other story, the one with giants? I've decided to publish it in November. :-)

Tell me what you think!

With love,

~Pacifia

Chapter 2: Pick Who Dies

Prompt I: Pick who dies

Prompt II: Hanging

(No themes for this one)

Warning: Well, I have no idea how it turned into this horrific, horrific story. I've tried to balance the angst out with a little hurt/comfort in the end, but it's still too much. And there's some horror in there, too. But, still, it's very messy.

The walls radiate cold. Shivers run down Edmund's spine as he struggles to breathe through his tears, icy cold, stone-like tears. Ominous laughter fills the dark space. Edmund thinks he saw two shining white teeth, gleaming near the blue flicker that seems to inch away every second, taking the last light with it. He's crying, even though he isn't sure why. His vision blurs, his dark curls rolling down his forehead. He quickly brushes them away, scared of their black colour. Edmund's head feels so heavy, pounding inside his skull. He wishes desperately for a warm touch, a soothing, gentle presence. For his siblings.

And they come. But not in the way he had wanted.

His brother and sisters' bodies, horribly still bodies, hang from three large poles, a thick rope tied around their necks, their hands bound behind their backs, and toes barely reaching the stools beneath them. Edmund lets out a sharp gasp, wanting to dash to their side. But he cannot move, for he, too, is bound. He feels the cold metallic touch of the shackles, tinkling as he tries to shake free. An invisible force pushes him down to his knees, holding him there. He can't move now; he remains still as sheer terror grips him. He wishes the sight would go away. The horrific scene is killing him, making him feel his presence is fading away. He just wants his siblings safe! Please, let them be safe!

Peter! Susan! Lucy! he wants to yell, but he has no voice. No voice. No strength. No will. Nothing. He just owns the fear that's brewing in his heart. The terrible, sickening feeling. Then comes a terrifying echo from the black ends of the space, seeming to strike off the invisible walls, coming back, reverberating through the air, hurting his ears with its intense volume. Edmund squeezes his eyes shut, hiding from the echo and the sight of his siblings' bodies hanging lifeless from the wooden frames.

"Ed…"

Edmund forgets to breathe for a moment. His head jerks up and he lets out shuddering breaths to see his brother's eyes open, even if the slits are too narrow for him to see his china-blue eyes clearly. He's awake. And alive. Edmund is shivering in the cold creeping up to his neck, swallowing him, stinging in his heart. Why is it so cold? He sees Peter lick his lips and stare at him, desperation shining from his eyes. Weakly, he smiles and says, "Ed, please, you must…"

Edmund is sobbing now, unable to suppress the accompanying shudders. "Y's?"

"You m...must p...put...put the girls fir...first. Please…"

And then his head drops again, the slits sweeping close, their warmth slipping from view. Edmund gulps, feeling afraid again now that his brother's comforting voice is gone. "P...Peter? Peter, please! Wake up!"

Then, light brightens the entire space, the luminous sun suddenly roaring above him, the air now hot, the shine making him temporarily close his eyes. He flutters them open, squirming in his place, trying desperately to break free of the cruel bonds that refused to let him go to his siblings, ensure they're safe. "Peter! Susan! Lucy!" he yells, his voice hoarse after the loud cry. But the three remain motionless as the sun's atrocious heat continues to burn his skin, making it itch in the sweat. But he couldn't care less for himself, his gaze remains fixed on his unmoving siblings, and he keeps yelling at them, urging them to wake up already. There is a horrible cry coming from the gully beside him, and he turns, finding a silhouette quietly sliding past, tracing the walls, seeming to sneer from the shadows.

"Who are you?" Edmund growls, his voice quavering. The shadow remains still for some time, and then glides forward, seemingly floating as it rushes out of the gully. In a sudden moment, it dashes through the sandy street, crossing it in a flurry of seconds. Then it's gone, melted into the shadows again. To Edmund's relief, it doesn't come back. But a chilly voice, one that coldly resembled Jadis' comes from where it had gone, making Edmund's skin crawl.

Chooooseee, it hisses. Edmund can imagine the menacing grin gracing the shadow's empty, black face.

"What?" Edmund asks, feeling his tears dry.

Choooseee who livessss and who diesss, the voice echoes.

"What?" Edmund repeats, trembling now. He knows what the shadow is saying, somewhere deep down he knows, but his mind refuses to acknowledge it. When there comes no reply, he asks again, "What do you mean?"

But the air is silent.

Whoosh!

Edmund flinches at the sharp sound, edging away from its direction. He hears something knock against the walls of the white houses. Then he looks up and screams louder than he ever had. "Noooo!"

There, in front of him, his siblings' now struggle, their legs kicking uselessly beneath them, their bodies shaking in the pain sweeping through them, their choked, agonised gasps stabbing at Edmund's heart, their eyes now wide open and red, popping, their throats constricted with the rope. They're dying. Dying. "Noooo! Please!" he screams, desperately thrashing against his bonds. But he's helpless. Incapable of helping his brother and sisters. He can only watch as the three choke, struggling for air.

Then choooseee, the voice whispers. A chilling wind blows, the dust swirling around him now.

Choooseee…

He has to choose. Choose. But how could he? How could he decide who dies? How could—

Running out of time….

"P…please…I'm begging you. Please…" Edmund pleads, unable to force down the tears.

No time…

Put the girls first, his brother's voice whispers in his mind. Edmund shakes his head. He couldn't. He can't. He shouldn't. Always the girls first. "Please!"

Lucy's legs have gone still. Edmund panics. "Lucy!"

No time…

Edmund, now barely able to breathe, chokes out, "My…"

Choose now…

Peter's head drops ahead. He's still now, too.

Edmund knows what he must do. He had to…

Choose now…

"My…Save my…Save my sisters!" he screams. And everything goes still. Not a sound. Not a breath. No wind is rushing past. No dust spiralling up. Nothing but the bleak emptiness. Edmund's heart clenches, knowing what he had just done. Mustering all the will he has, he dares to look up. And screams—like the agonised wail of a dying man, severe and deathly sounding, absolutely horrific, dark and brutal.

He screams because his brother hangs from the frame, rope still tightly secured around his neck, body utterly still, eyes wide, red and rheumy, popping out of their sockets, neck squished, covered with red scratches. Dead…

Edmund only screams until his throat tears and his voice fades away. Just like his soul.

~o~

"Eddie…Ed, please, please, wake up. Please, brother," Peter whispers into his Edmund's dark hair, trying his hardest to ignore the heart-wrenching screams; they're raw, animalistic. And they seem to tear Peter's heart apart.

"Please, Ed. Please, it's just a dream," Peter chokes, stroking the fourteen-year-old's hair. "Wake up, wake up!" he exclaims as the screams continue to rip out of his brother's throat.

And then there is silence, broken by the struggling gasps his brother is letting out. Peter finally allows himself to breathe. "Shh…Shh…Ed. It's alright. You're alright. It was a dream. Just breathe, Ed," he adds when his little brother continues to gasp, clearly unable to take enough air into his lungs.

"Breathe. Just breathe."

Edmund's hands curls into Peter's tunic, clutching too tightly. "Ed?" Peter asks, rubbing his brother's chest when he continues to sob, still unable to breathe properly. "Edmund! You have to calm down! You'll start hyperventilating!"

Feeling his brother's forehead, Peter frowns and picks up the cloth from the bowl filled with cold water. Dabbing it onto his forehead, he whispers, "You've a fever, Ed. It was a fever dream. Just calm down. And breathe with me. You can do that, right?" Edmund gives a faint nod. "Good. Breathe with me. Come on. That's it, Ed. Just breathe."

After almost thirty minutes of soothing, whispered words, Edmund finally manages to calm down, his breathing returning to normal. "There you go. There you go, Ed. You want to talk about it?"

"You…you…"

"Yeah?" Peter asks, pressing warm kisses onto his hair.

"You were…I saw you…"

Peter shushes him, realising his brother had seen him die.

"I had to…I had to choose…"

"What?"

Edmund curls further into his chest, clutching to his tunic even more tightly, burying his face into the crook his neck, trying to suppress the racking sobs. "I had to choose. It told me to choose. You said…you said the girls had to…I had to put the girls first…"

"Oh, Eddie…" Peter says, understanding beginning to dawn on him. What a horrible dream it must have been.

"And then you…you were dead…hanged…"

Peter almost lets out a gasp, but he holds his brother even closer, shielding him, hiding him, protecting him. "It was just a dream, okay?" He takes one of Edmund's trembling hands, and presses it onto his chest, just above his heart. "See? I'm alive."

"But…you weren't…"

"I am now. Feel that?" Peter asks, feeling his own heartbeat vibrate through his fingers. "What does that mean?"

"Means…means you're alive," Edmund whispers into his neck.

"Yes, yes, exactly. Alive. Right here with you," Peter says, kissing his temple. "Now, sleep, Ed. I'm right here."

Edmund curls up, shifting closer to his brother. Peter settles back against the head of the bed, adjusting Edmund to lean beside him, head on his chest, hand still curled into his tunic. Peter brushes back his hair, pressing more kisses to his head. He cradles him until he finally falls asleep and the last of the sobs are gone.

And only when Edmund's fever breaks, at four in the morning, does Peter allow himself to drift into a slumber.

Another nightmare creeping in with a grinning mouth.

Fin

Author's note: It was Peter's turn, wasn't it? So, for those of you who like Peter whump, I hope this wasn't too disappointing. I know it was a little subtle, other than the horrifying last paragraph. I, personally, like to torture Edmund. He's currently glaring at me. I'm going to go hide now. Because this was definitely too much. But the second part made up for it? Hopefully?

Also, an evil part of me wanted to turn this into a tragedy fic. I was thinking about killing Edmund in the end, and having Peter wake up next to his dead brother. But these poor boys deserved a rest.

Oh, and the very last sentence put you off, didn't it?

With love,

~Pacifia

Chapter 3: Don't Say Goodbye

Theme: Where Did Everybody Go?

Prompt: "Don't Say Goodbye"

Warning: Well, this isn't as gory and bloody and disturbing as the previous one, and it won't make you bite your nails like the first one, but it's very emotional and depressing. And I've made my first attempt at ornate language. Well, it might not be considered that since my vocabulary isn't that good. But I tried.

It's a cold morning, the breaths mystifying. The Calormenes are rubbing their hands together in a hope to gain some warmth on this bleak, wintry day. Edmund silently huffs, regretting his decision of ever inviting the Calormenes to Narnia. He sits down on his throne, trying his hardest not to look at the empty throne to his left. The awkward silence stretches, and the foreign dignitaries exchange glances, looking weirdly at the Centaurs that line the edges of the room. Edmund is just about to greet them when Susan leaves her throne, clasping her hands together.

In a gentle and welcoming voice, she says, "Esteemed Guests of Narnia, you are most welcomed in our Kingdom. I hope thy journeys hath not been too tiring? The sea has been quiet these past days, so our sailors tell us. Your sail, then, I presume was quite swift?"

The Calormene with the long, grey beard steps forward, adjusting his orange turban, and the scimitar hanging from his hip. Edmund smiles to hear Lucy snicker at him. "'Tis the case, O Gentle Queen of Narnia. We do not wish to be rude in our question, Great Monarchs of the North, but where is your eldest brother, the High King?"

Edmund grips the side of his throne. "Our royal brother is currently not present, Asheesh Tarkan. And though we apologize for the inconvenience, we did not think his presence was required to solve these small matters of trade. I'm certain the three of us will be enough and will succeed in pleasing you?"

Asheesh glances at the Calormene beside him, the one holding the large scroll. He looks back at them. "I am afraid we cannot proceed without him. He is, after all, the head of state, is he not? The High King, he is called."

Edmund's throat tightens. And you, my brother, the one dearest to my heart, will you do what I ask of you? Will you take my throne?

He shakes himself. "The Great Aslan crowned us as equals, Tarkan. Though his word prevails if our thoughts should ever clash, our jurisdiction is not inferior to his. I hold just as much command over our armies."

Asheesh replies, "No, no, Young King, 'Twas not what I meant—"

Edmund's hand curls into a fist. And Lucy, noticing this, stands up. "Ah…we understand, Tarkan. If it will please you, come with me. I'm sure you are all feeling weary after the long sail. Come, let me show you to your chambers where you may rest till our next meeting. Come, all. Please, this way," she says, leading the five out of the large doors of the Great Hall.

And as soon they are gone, Edmund rushes out of the room, leaving Susan to weep for the third time today.

Tiny, cold needles cut his skin, the chill running down his spine, the pain enveloping him again. It's too hot now. Then cold again. Something dabs at his forehead, giving him the same icy touch. He moans when the temperature rises again. He tries moving, wanting to get rid of the suffocating weight on his chest, it's crushing him. He twists, head snapping to his sides. He feels a gentle touch on his hand, soothing words echo in his ears, but he doesn't understand them. He groans again, wanting desperately for some comfort.

Too hot. It was too hot.

Giving up, he goes still, letting his subconscious take control.

It's the same hideous smile that she wears. She turns, grinning menacingly, holding the bloody, broken sword. And as his brother falls, eyes showing acceptance, Peter feels himself die, unleashing something he didn't know he possessed. And he charges.

"Edmund!"

The screams make the Calormenes flinch. And they're two storeys below.

Edmund had entered Peter's chambers to hear his brother scream his name, crushing his soul. The screams continue to tear through Peter's throat as he thrashes violently in his bed. A flustered Mrs Beaver is trying to calm him, caressing his hair, whispering soothing words. Edmund dashes to his brother, and clasps his hand.

"He…Oh, your Majesty…" Mrs Beaver says, trying her hardest not to flinch at the screams.

"Fetch my sisters, Mrs Beaver. Now!"

Mrs Beaver nods and hurries out of the room. Edmund turns back to his brother, kissing his hand. "Peter?" Edmund says, stroking his hair. Peter continues to scream. Edmund leans down to match his forehead with his brother's. "Peter. Peter, please. Come on, wake up. Calm down now. I'm here. I'm right here."

"Ed!"

Edmund's heart throbs. "Right here with you. I'm right here. Just wake up."

"Edmund! No!"

Edmund's tears fall on his brother's face. "Peter, please…" he begs.

But Peter doesn't wake.

"No!" Edmund yells, gathering his brother's body in his arms. "You will not sedate him!"

The healer glances at his brother once when he screams Edmund's name again, and then turns to the younger King. "Please, Majesty, it is the only way—"

"No! You can't…" he whispers into his brother's hair. Then kissing the top of his head, he says, "I'm so sorry." He turns to his sisters. "Lucy…"

"Will not…Won't too much of it kill him?" Susan asks, clutching more tightly to her little sister.

The healer smiles grimly. "He's already dying, my Queen. But the herbs can lessen his suffering."

Lucy bursts into fresh tears, hiding her face in her sister's shoulder. Susan shushes her.

Edmund feels numb. He can't think properly. He can't breathe…

"Ed?"

Edmund lets out a hiccoughing-like sound, shuddering, gasping. He looks down at his brother. His fevered eyes seem utterly terrified, lower lip trembling, cold tears rolling down his pale—ghostly white, leaving none of the golden tan—cheeks. "Eddie…Ed, please…"

Susan and Lucy are almost instantaneously by their elder brother's side; Susan stroking his hair gently, and Lucy kissing his hand.

"Peter?" the youngest asks.

Peter swallows, his eyes locked on Edmund. "I…n…need you to…to…"

"Anything, brother."

"I…I need y…you to…ta…take over," Peter slurs out. Edmund nods, blinking through his tears. "Be…be the…High King…"

Susan can barely breathe, sobbing uncontrollably. But Lucy is calm, kissing Peter's cheeks now. Edmund wishes he possessed her courage. Then Peter's breathing eases. He relaxes, going lax in Edmund's arms. He smiles. "He's calling me, Ed," he says, words now clear. Firm. "Can you see Him? Can you see Him?"

Edmund shakes his head, resting his forehead against his brother's temple, adjusting his hold on his limp body. "Please don't go. Tell Him you don't want to go."

"But I do," Peter says.

It is then that Susan gets up and rushes out of the room, hiding her face in her hands. Edmund and Lucy don't dare to look away from their brother.

"Please, Peter. You would leave us?"

Eyes hazed and staring at the ceiling, Peter says, "Do you remember what father used to say?"

Lucy sobs. "I…I do. All…all things have their time."

"Yes. Do you see now?"

Edmund can't breathe…He can't…

"Please…Peter…don't go…"

"But He's calling me. He says I must go soon."

"Soon but not yet," Lucy says, kissing Peter's cheeks again.

Edmund feels like he's choking…He can't breathe…

Peter blinks, his vision clearing. He turns to Lucy. "Not yet?"

"Have you forgotten, Peter?" his sister asks, smiling. "He calls all times soon."

Edmund's lungs ache for air….He can't breathe…

"You must stay with us. Stay, Peter. Please," Lucy whispers. Peter smiles. And Lucy sobs, feeling his fever break. "Oh, Aslan, thank you!" she exclaims throwing herself at Peter. Peter, still weak from the recent fever, moans when she crushes him against herself.

Edmund still can't breathe…

The healer takes hesitant steps forward. Feeling Peter's forehead, he gasps, and then claps his hands together. "Oh, a miracle! It's a miracle!" he exclaims joyously and races out of the room.

Edmund can't breathe…He's choking…

He leaves the bed.

"Ed?" Peter asks him, his eyes concerned.

Edmund's eyes widen, hands going to his throat. He can't breathe! His knees buckle, forcing him to the floor.

"Edmund!" Peter shouts, flinging away his blankets despite Lucy's protests. He's instantly on his feet, staggering and swaying. He falls beside his brother, cradling his brother's face in his hands. "Edmund!"

Edmund collapses into his arms, Peter barely supporting his weight. "Edmund!" he screams. Lucy has rushed out, calling for help.

"Ed!" he yells, taking his face in his hands. His eyes are closed, face cold and pale. Running a hand through his hair, he says, "Eddie? Ed?"

No response.

"Ed, look at me! Open your eyes! Bloody hell, Ed! This is not the time for jokes!"

Nothing.

"Ed!"

Peter gulps, and presses two fingers to his throat, begging and praying for a pulse.

But there is nothing. No rhythmic pressure beneath his fingers. No heartbeat. No Edmund. No brother.

"NO!" Peter screams, crushing his brother against himself. "You can't go! You told me not to go! So you can't go! You can't!"

"Edmuuuund!"

With the cry, the world fades away, leaving Peter with only his brother's body, to mourn, to grieve. But Peter is numb; he can feel nothing.

He doesn't remember when the healers rushed in, when they told him his brother was dead, when his sisters threw themselves in his arms, crying, seeking the comfort that he couldn't give.

He doesn't remember when they took his brother's body from him, or how he struggled against them, wanting to keep him. He doesn't remember when they held his funeral, just a winter breeze brushing past the orange leaves, making them dance, sorrow sprinkling from the trees.

He doesn't remember beheading Asheesh for poisoning his brother, just the cold remorse it left him with afterwards.

He doesn't remember weeping every day and every night.

Because how can he? He is dead, too.

Fin

Author's note: Yes, I'm evil. To those of you who did not see it coming, I sincerely apologise, because I know it would hit me hard if I read this in someone else's work. Even while writing it, I felt a tight knot in my chest. But at least we got some good Peter whump, right? Right?

Tell me what you think in the reviews!

Response to P: I really hope you didn't have much trouble sleeping, it was a horrific read. But I'll tell you, I idiotically watched 'Jennifer's Body' right before going to sleep last night. My dreams were not pleasant. Hope this didn't hit just as hard? Thanks for the review!

With love,

~Pacifia

Chapter 4: Drugged

Theme: Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You?

Prompt: Drugged

No warnings! I've tried something different for this one. Mixing angst and humour. Let's see how it goes.

"Susan?"

Susan swallowed her share of the pastry and raised one eyebrow at her little sister. Lucy shifted, putting down the silver fork on the dining table, next to the china plate. "Peter and Edmund missed breakfast."

Susan blinked. "They're late, yes. Edmund probably asked for his breakfast to be served in his chambers. He exhausted himself studying Calormene Mythology last night."

"Calormene Mythology? Why?" Lucy asked, genuinely curious.

Susan shrugged. "He feels it's necessary. But Peter…Peter wouldn't miss breakfast if one of us was dying."

Lucy giggled sunnily, filling the table with her treasured warmth. "That's very sadly true, sister. But where is he then? Do you think we should go check on them?"

"They're not children, Lu. Peter's turning eighteen in two months. They can take care of themselves."

"Somehow I doubt it, Su."

Peter felt rather good today, standing in front of the narrow mirror, realizing his crown is finally not too big for his head. Edmund would probably stick his tongue out at him, but he was growing too, just slowly. Peter scrutinized his reflection. The crown's blood ruby gleamed sharply, glinting in the sunlight spilling in through the window. Peter's rather heavy cloak was flapping behind him, floating in the wind. He pulled down his tunic's hem, feeling the collar squishing his neck. It was a bright blue, a golden lion weaved into its rich fabric. He stomped his feet, feeling self-conscious about his boots. They were leather, but rather dirty after yesterday's ride in the woods. Maybe he should wear a different pair. He huffed. A King, not a princess.

He picked Rhindon from the bed (Susan had told him numerous times not to sleep with his sword on the bed. It could be dangerous. He only told her it would never hurt him), and sheathed it. Walking out the door, he mentally prepared himself for Susan's scolding, Lucy's snickers and Edmund's open mocking. He was late for breakfast! But he couldn't tell them why. That would ruin the surprise. He'd been working so hard for Edmund's fourteenth birthday tomorrow. If he knew what Peter had in mind, he'd call him a sentimental idiot. Maybe he deserved it.

He reached the Eastern Wing.

"Good Morn, Orieus. Why are you here? Is there a problem?"

The General flicked his tail and smiled. "They thought something was amiss, since you were late for breakfast."

"Oh," said Peter, smirking. Bidding him goodbye, Peter walked past the General, through the large doors that led to the open balcony right next to the eastern hall. The balcony faced the beach, the light reflected from the sea casting moving patterns on the marble ceiling. A luxurious dining table was set parallel to the gold railing. Peter smiled to see that his sisters had already finished their breakfast and had now engaged in a pleasant conversation, sitting on one of the sofas set next to the right wall.

Lucy was the first to notice him. "Oh, Peter, there you are! We were getting worried!" she exclaimed, embracing him. It only lasted a second, then it was Susan's turn to press a light kiss on his cheek. They both then frowned, looking past him.

"Where's Ed?"

Realization hit Peter. "Oh, I thought he'd already—" he said, "he isn't here?"

His sisters shook their heads. "No. We thought you'd bring him with you. He's probably still asleep," said Susan, smiling grimly. "He's been working too hard."

Peter nodded, remembering how he had had to carry his brother's asleep form to his chambers last night. He hadn't even moved once. "I'll go. Have a word with him."

Gulping at the sight of Mrs Beaver's pastry, he turned about.

"Don't be too hard on him, Pete!" Lucy called after him.

Peter knocked once. Twice. Thrice. No reply. Snorting, he called, "Ed! Open up!" He sighed and turned the doorknob.

The room was a mess. Papers scattered. Ink splattered on them. Wardrobe wide open. And the clothes a sprawled mass on the floor. It was as if someone had robbed Edmund. But his little brother was currently slumped in his bed, hidden under the covers, completely wrapped and packed in them. Carefully stepping over the documents and dodging the pile of clothes, he made his way to his brother. The covers rose and sank, syncing with Edmund's steady breathing.

"Ed!"

There came no reply. Peter sighed and flung aside the covers to reveal a snoring little brother. Wait. Was he snoring? But Edmund always snored (despite his denials). If very quietly. Peter frowned, forehead creasing in concern. He patted his brother's cheek, but his head merely limped to his left shoulder. Now Peter was really worried.

"Edmund?" Peter whispered, sitting on the bed. "Ed, come on," he said, feeling his brother's forehead with the back of his hand, dreading to find his temperature high. Being sick on his birthday? But contrary to what he had expected, Edmund was as cold as ice.

"Eddie?" he said, stroking his cheek. "You exhausted yourself again, didn't you?"

Edmund remained utterly still.

Taking his brother's face in his hands, Peter tried again, "Edmund, wake up. You have to eat. Ed?"

Edmund showed no signs of consciousness and now Peter was really, really worried. "Ed!" he shouted, shaking his brother. "Edmund, this isn't funny! Edmund! Edmu—"

Peter blinked. He let Edmund's head limp to his right shoulder. Tracing his neck with his fingers, Peter gasped. There were two red marks. They looked like a needle's mark. Someone had drugged his little brother. And just as he was about to get up and call for help, he received a sharp knock to the head.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, seeing stars for a moment. Rubbing his head, he turned. A blurry, bluish, wavering figure stood in front of him. It had…four eyes? And a really tiny nose. Seeing the long hair, Peter concluded it was a girl. She had very pretty blue hair. Peter blinked.

"Who—"

And that was how Peter, High King of Narnia, got knocked out by a girl.

"Susan?"

"Yes, Lu?"

"I think we should go check on them."

"Why? Peter's probably giving him a scolding. You'll just make them both laugh."

"Su?"

"Yeah?"

"I really think we should go check on them."

Edmund was weightless. He was sure he was. He felt as light as paper, flying. There was a sudden jerk. And Edmund's head bumped into something. He tried rubbing it, but his hands were bound. I think. He wasn't sure about anything, really. Not about where he was. And why everything felt so funny…

He giggled. And then snickered. And then chuckled. Why were there so many words to describe a single action? He tittered. There! Another unnecessary addition to his vocabulary.

Another jolt. Another smack to the head. A sharp light reached him, piercing through his eyelids. He fluttered his eyes open, and then instantly shut them again. Then slowly, counting to ten, he opened them again. He saw…hay?

Wait. No. It looked like…something solid. He shook his head, blinking repeatedly. A thin wall. But walls were supposed to be big, right? This one was barely as tall as him. And he was sitting!

Another jerk. But Edmund's head was spared this time.

Then he felt a weight on his shoulder. He blinked and turned his head. It was Peter! Peter was here, too? "Oi! Pete!" he said, shaking his shoulder in attempt to wake his younger brother. No. He was older. No, no. Younger! No, older. Oh, bother!

"Peter!"

His brother jerked awake, snapping his head around, looking extremely dazed. Edmund giggled again. Peter's hair was golden. Golden. Like sand. Or…hay. He looked so funny to Edmund.

"Ed?"

Edmund blinked. "Who? I'm Eddie."

Peter shook his head and then eyed him. "Eddie?"

"My name's Eddie. What's yours?" Edmund asked, extending his bound hands towards him, wriggling his fingers.

Peter looked at his hands once and then said, "You've been drugged, Ed. You don't…"

"Eddie!"

"Alright. Eddie. You've been drugged."

"Drugged?" Edmund asked, trying to scratch his head. But his hands…

He tried a different approach. And tilted his head. "Drugged?"

Peter opened his mouth, but he could never say anything. "They're awake!"

"Oh, no…" Peter said. "Pretend you're sleeping, Ed."

"Eddie!"

"Pretend you're sleeping, Eddie!"

And then the sandy-haired boy went lax, leaving Edmund to tilt his head at him again. Edmund nudged him but he didn't wake. He frowned, feeling lonely all of a sudden. Then they stopped. And the small door of the wagon opened. Edmund, excited by the prospect of meeting someone, waved his hands as well he could, and said, "Hey!"

"Su?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to go check on them."

Susan crossed her arms over her chest, frowning. "Well, don't tell me I didn't warn you then."

"He looks out of it," one of the blue-haired girls said, kicking him. Peter gritted his teeth, staying as still as he could.

"The other one?" the other girl asked.

"Give him more of it."

Oh, Aslan, no. Peter tried to loosen the ropes, rubbing his wrists together, but no avail.

"AH!" Edmund's voice suddenly exclaimed. "That hurt!" he sobbed. Peter could just imagine him rubbing his neck. Where they had injected him. Again. Aslan, please…

"Oi, Ly, I think he's awake!"

"Deal with him," Ly replied.

Then a hand patted his cheek. Peter remained unmoving. "Well, maybe I was—"

"Tem!" Ly yelled when Peter pulled her back, his hands around her neck, the rope crushing her neck.

Peter blew her blue-hair out of his face and said, "What did you do to my brother?" Ignoring Tem's desperate struggles and attempts to breathe, he glanced Edmund's way. He lay still in Ly's arms, head limping on her arm, lips slightly parted, and forehead dripping with sweat.

When Ly remained silent, he pressed on, "What did you—"

But he could say nothing else. He felt Tem's weak fingers press a nerve on his neck, and he was suddenly choking. Tem slipped out of his grasp and Peter crashed down. Desperately trying to breathe, he prayed. His lungs were burning, throat felt as if it was being squished by someone. He couldn't breathe!

"Throw him out," Ly's voice said.

"What?"

"Throw him out. He's too much trouble."

"But he could—"

"We're in the desert. He'll die in an hour."

Sucking in one breath, he tried lifting himself up. Only to come down again. Then strong arms were gripping his, rolling him. He caught just a glimpse of his brother, still unconscious in the girl's arms. "Ed…" he whispered, feeling some air return to his lungs.

Then he was falling, his stomach turning and twisting, as his body prepared himself for the impact.

The wind was knocked out of his lungs as his body collided with the soft sand. The sun's heat combined with the burning sand was making him feel like he was being roasted. He couldn't move.

The gallop of the horses. Thump-thump. The wagon disappearing up the slope. Hope fading away. Endurance leaving him. Darkness threatening to take over.

And as the small wagon vanished, leaving him to stare at the golden sand, he closed his eyes, knowing he'd lost his brother. Again.

To be continued...

Author's note: I wouldn't have split this into two parts. But I'm very, very sick. My headache allowed me to write only a thousand words today. I hope to update tomorrow. If I could just stop sneezing...

Response to P: You're too kind. I can't tell you how wide your review made me smile.

With love,

~Pacifia

Chapter 5: Part II

Part II

Warning: This is angsty. Very angsty. And you might hate me after reading it. You'll know why.

Lucy gasped when she opened the door to Edmund's room. Everything was in chaos. A complete, haywire disorder. She was glad Susan had chosen not to accompany her now. This would put her off for the rest of the day. The documents and books which should've been neatly piled up on the pine desk in the corner lay scattered on the ground, their pages flapping with a whoosh as the wind soughed. The clothes which should have been hung in the wardrobe were riled up on top of each other, piled up next to the bed. And the bed—

The bed was empty, the covers flying up and down, floating, soaring as the wind held them up in the air. Lucy carefully stepped on the clear spots on the floor, ones that weren't decorated with splattered ink or half-torn documents, and reached the bed with some effort. She set the covers down, tucking their hems under the mattress, bringing an end to their dancing. Then looking back at the bed, she frowned. Peter's crown was set nicely on the pillow, the gold contrasting the sharp blue. She picked it up, playing with it. It was really heavy. Smiling gleefully, she perched it on her head, almost crumbling under its sheer weight. Her own crown weighed as light as a feather. But Peter's felt like a pile of stones had been forced onto her. How did her brother wear it with such ease?

She put it down then. And frowned again. It was Rhindon. On the floor. Laid in an undignified manner. And that meant something was terribly wrong. She picked it up and pulled it out of its sheath, then put it back in again. Glancing around, she gasped. Because there was Peter's cloak hanging from the windowsill. Lifting it from its place, she felt her stomach turn. Because there, on its coarse surface, was a red patch. Blood. Dried now. It wasn't too much. Only a few drops. From a small cut perhaps? But it was Peter's cloak. And that meant this was Peter's blood.

"No. No. No. Oh, Aslan. Peter!"

Peter licked his dry, ragged lips. But they gained no moisture. Sweat was dripping from his brow, from his lashes, blurring his vision. His hands had been burnt by the sand's heat, red and scorching, like on fire. His throat felt scratchy, absolutely dry. He buried his hands deep into the yellow sand, seeking some guard from the atrocious sunlight. His left cheek was prickling, cut by the hot yet icy cold touch of the sand. His tangled hair fell over his eyes, shielding them from the reflecting sand. He blew sand out of his mouth. And then made a whimpering sound. Sounding crude and utterly petty to his own ears.

His tears mixed with the sweat as he started to weep, fearing the death that he knew was hovering near, sneering at him, pitying his miserable condition. He cried because he was in an irrational amount of pain that seemed to have no end to it, enduring the agony silently because he could not scream, feeling his skin burn and turn black. He just wanted it to end. He just wished for peace. For some rest. Mercy. Aslan, please. Please, please. Free me. I can't bear it! Free me!

But the Lion made no answer. No sign that He had heard him, that He'd save him, that He'd weep for him. He wasn't there, not to wipe away his tears, not to comfort him, not to save him from this sheer pain. Peter prayed, chanting the pleading words in his mind, somehow trying to reach Him. But there was still no answer. And all hope left Peter. The very last thread of strength he had left broke and he was crying again, weeping uncontrollably, the sobs shaking him. Please! Aslan, please!

But he was alone in his pain. Neither the Lion nor his siblings were there. He was going to die alone, in this brutal desert, struggling till his last breath, bearing this cruel torture. He continued to weep, the tears evaporating before they could reach the sand. He wept until he had no more tears to cry. Until he translated his misery into anger towards the Lion. Because He wasn't there! When he needed him, He wasn't there! How could He leave him? Why? I've bled and nearly died for the country You gave me! Why? Why?

He closed his eyes, deciding that seething would do no good. It would not take away his pain. Nor would it help him die quickly. But as soon as the black enveloped his vision, he saw a shadow. Barely a glimpse. The sight drifting as he tried to grab it. But remembrance came. He saw it. Golden in the golden sand, its wheels rolling as it ascended up the slope, carrying his brother. His brother. Taken again. Taken from him. While he was helpless to stop it. Aslan would at least save him? He was merely a child! Not even fourteen yet! He wasn't supposed to endure so much! He was supposed to be protected, shielded. But Peter had failed in ensuring it was so. Failed so, so miserably.

Please, Aslan. I don't know what wrong I've done, but please, don't let my brother suffer for it. Please. Please let him be safe. Let our sisters find him in time. Let them save him even if it's too late for me. Please. I beg of You. Please…

Peter prayed for as long as he could remember. Until oblivion took him.

He woke again, to the same heat, the same horrible sun, the same burning sand beneath him, the same itching throat, and the same longing for water. He didn't know how long he'd slept. It could have been hours, or mere minutes. He closed his eyes and darkness took him again. The last thing he remembered was the softest paw nuzzling his face.

He woke again, fluttering his tired eyes. The sun's heat had lessened. The sand cooler. But his throat was still so dry. He could feel his body giving up. Just like his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting the darkness consume him, hoping he would not wake this time.

But he did wake. And this time to night. The sun had sunk. And darkness had swept through the desert. It was cold. And Peter was chattering his teeth. He closed his eyes, lay awake for a while. And just as he heard a low flutter of wings above him, he slept once more.

He did not wake this time.

Susan looked at Rhindon in her hand and then back at her sister. "They're gone?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Not again. Please, Aslan, not again. They'd been through so much already. Lucy, who was on the verge of tears, nodded, passing her Peter's cloak. Susan took it and gasped to see blood marking the collar.

"Oh, no, no, no, no. Please, no. Don't let them be hurt," Susan whispered, her fingers curling into the cloak's fabric. She closed her eyes, leaning on her sister for support.

"No, Su! It can't have been that bad. There's not enough blood."

Susan sniffed and stood straight. She wiped her nose and said, "Find Orieus. Now."

The next time Edmund woke, it was to pecking kisses, loving strokes running down his face, whispered words full of comfort and promises echoing in his ears. It was such a pretty voice. Another kiss to the cheek.

"You'll be back with us, brother. Soon."

"Ly, what are you doing?"

He groaned when the hands supporting his head were suddenly withdrawn, leaving him to slump down.

"Uh…he's waking. Get more of Sorontia. Fahima knows we're doomed if he wakes and runs away. The Tarkan will kill us."

There was a shuffling, rummaging sound. Then something cutting the air. Edmund moaned. Why was everything spinning? His head felt as if it would explode any second, limbs numb, and his stomach was churning. "Shh…" the pretty voice cooed. Then he felt the coldest touch on his neck; it made him shiver. Then her hand was rubbing his neck, lingering on the three marks that he could feel. "It'll hurt just a bit."

But it hurt a lot. A needle piercing your skin is never a nice feeling, but this hurt so much. Edmund groaned again, feeling tears roll down his cheeks. "I…I…" he said, sobbing.

He was then propped up, gentle hands supporting him, cradling his face. He was pulled into a hug, his face buried into her pale neck, her blue hair tickling his burning neck. She stroked his hair, shushing him, comforting him as if he was a small child. "It's okay. I promise it'll be okay, Ace."

"Ly?" a different yet similar voice said.

"Yeah?"

"This isn't Sorontia. This is Asir."

Before any more could be said, Edmund was pulled into darkness.

"I'll find them, Queen Susan! Yes, yes, I will! I swear!" the blue-jay squeaked, flying in circles around her. She held out her hand and the bird perched himself on her finger. She smiled at him, exchanging a look with her sister who stood beside Orieus and the Cats, wearing Edmund's leather armour. Gulping, she turned back to the bird who was now flapping his wings in excitement, shifting from one tiny foot to other, tilting his little neck, as he blinked in a most appealing way. Susan had to concede to the twinkling flair in his eyes.

"Fine, Chirp, you can come. Though it might be dangerous. Will your father not worry about you?"

Chirp shook his head. "No, no, Queen Susan. He says I must learn! Learn and serve! I want to protect the Kings when I grow up! And protect you, too. But they need it more." Lucy snickered at that.

Susan smiled. "Come then. Let's go," she said, and Chirp left her finger, flying enthusiastically beside her as she walked towards Lucy and the rest of the search party. Orieus greeted her with a bow.

"What have the wolves found?" she asked, glancing once at Lucy.

"They went south, Majesty. We should be able to catch them in a day's time, assuming they're not as swift as presumed."

"We go south," she said, mounting her horse, checking her quiver once to see that she had enough arrows to kill the ones that had hurt her brothers. She nodded at Lucy and then they set off southward.

Edmund's hazed eyes could barely see. But the two arguing figures in front of him had really pretty blue hair. Edmund grinned, tilting his head. His back was stiff, a large rock against it. They had such pretty blue hair! Edmund suddenly wished he had blue hair. He wondered what Susan would say to that idea. He flinched when the voices' volume suddenly grew drastically.

"You told me to wait! Well, I waited! Now will you tell me what we're doing in The Tombs of the Ancient Kings?"

The other girl, the one that was nice to Edmund, rubbed her wrists, and tucked her pretty blue hair behind her ear. She looked nervous. Edmund frowned. "Tem, please, you have to understand—"

"I would if you'd tell me! The Tarkan is probably looking for us. He'll punish us for being late."

"Exactly!" the prettier girl replied and Edmund blinked. She seemed angry. "I don't want to be Onmed's slave anymore! I can't bear to see my sister take the beatings for the mistakes I made!"

"You—you know that's why—"

The angry one started pacing, tucking back her hair again. "I miss Ace. Don't you miss him, Tem?"

"Of course, I do, Ly. I miss him every day. But he's with Fahima now."

Edmund internally winced to see glistening tears slide down Ly's cheeks. "Do you know what Asir does?" she asked, turning to face her sister.

Tem stiffened. "It…It takes away people's memories, doesn't it? Makes them forget."

Edmund frowned, pouting like a child. "But I remember everything!" he yelled, raising his bound hands above his head. His words were ignored. If only he could cross his arms.

"Not just that. It can…If we could call him…Call Ace…This boy…I can feel it. He's the perfect match. The only one that can contain a spirit as free as Ace's. No, wait. Let me speak, Tem. If we can get him back…just think about it. We could go home. We could finally go home. Without having to bear the shame. The guilt. We could go home, Tem."

"It's madness," Tem said, crossing her arms. Edmund frowned, furious that she could do what he could not. Unfair!

"I can do it. Do you believe in me?"

"Yes," Tem said, turning, a grim smile on her face, fresh tears glimmering silver in her eyes.

"Then let's do this. We'll have to inject him first," Ly said, looking at Edmund with grim eyes. Edmund's lower lip started trembling; he flinched away from the sisters, feeling afraid.

"Oh, it won't hurt, darling. I promise."

But it did hurt. A lot. Ly held him as he once more drifted into oblivion. But his peaceful sleep was short-lived this time. Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. His eyes grew wide, his heart racing, as his body jerked and convulsed, a white foam coming out of his mouth. He clutched to the girl's sleeve as pain coursed through his body. He jerked once, twice, thrice. And then went still. Screaming words reached him when he stopped breathing, staring at the twinkling stars in the sky.

"What have you done?!" Ly yelled.

"I—I don't know…I…"

"It was too much! Get the Relium! Now!"

Edmund felt his heart stop.

To be continued...

Author's note: Don't kill me, please? You'll never find what happens if you do! There's a reason I didn't update yesterday. I was feverish for an entire night. The fever didn't break till morning. And now I feel so bad for Peter. But at least I'm free of the headache. And I could write more since I had an excuse for never leaving my bed. I've had to face some terrifying events this past couple of days. And it took me a while to get over them. But I think I'm back on track now, and should be able to update tomorrow.

And this story got way out of hand. It was supposed to be 2000 words long! But tell me if you're glad it did. ;-)

Response to P: It took an excruciating amount of pills to get rid of the cold. And the fever is still with me. But I'm better! Hope you liked this chapter!

With love,

~Pacifia

Chapter 6: Part III

Part III

No warnings! And my apologies, because this isn't necessarily angsty. Just suspenseful. But I was a little tired of writing angst non-stop. And these poor characters deserve a break. However short it may be. Please don't hate me after reading this!

The night sky was spinning when Peter opened his eyes, a buzzing sound ringing in his ears, a concentrated pain between his eyes, and a horribly thirsty throat. So, when he found his voice, the first thing he said was, "Wa'er…please…"

And instantly, his lips felt the blessed, cool touch of water. He took it all in, drinking desperately, feeling some of it seep through his shirt, making him shiver. But he savoured it. When he was sure he could drink no more, he let his head limp back again, taking some trembling breaths. Then he went still; his muscles felt too tired and stiff to move. He just wanted to die. Be free. The silver sand grinded beneath him when he squirmed. He groaned, feeling the burning pain crawl up his spine. Even when it was cold, he felt as if he was burning. A soft, familiar hand stroked his left cheek. A sob. "P…Peter?"

He knew that voice. The gentle, caring, beautiful voice. It sounded miraculous to him. Had his sisters found him? Would he be salvaged? After so much suffering, had he finally found rescue? Another heart-breaking sob penetrated his ears. He hated to make his sister cry. "Peter…please…"

Lucy. Lucy was here, too!

"Wake up now. Come back. Come back!"

He felt someone lift him, take him into a loving embrace. He let himself go lax, melting into the hug, the warmth. He felt a light kiss to his forehead. "Can you open your eyes, Peter? Try?" Susan asked, running her fingers through the ravel of his hair, untangling it. He felt a warm blanket land on him, enveloping him into the much needed warmth. He relaxed further, sleep calling him. His head lolled back on his sister's arm. "No…no…Peter…stay awake! Peter!" He remembered being shaken, desperate voices calling his name, urging him to stay awake. But he'd already drifted off into the darkness. His dreams would haunt him.

Peter woke again, to a blurry vision, and wet eyes. He'd been weeping. Feeling the strength drain away again, he slumped down, listening to the crackling of the fire. Seeing the black shadows of the Narnians gathered around it being cast on the leaves of the tree they'd taken shelter under. He listened to his sisters' voices; they were bare, almost crushed.

"I've never—I just haven't ever seen him like that. He's the one that takes care of us. He's the one that…I couldn't see him cry…" That was Lucy, sounding afraid, as if something was terribly wrong. She sniffed. "But you were amazing, Su. He needed that."

Peter frowned. Had he cried in front of his sisters? He'd sworn long ago he'd never let them see him cry. He only allowed his brother to see him at his lowest. Only Edmund had—

Edmund.

"Edmund!" he screamed, jolting up, gasping. They'd taken him. The blue-haired girls. They'd taken his brother from him! His sisters were already by his side, each rubbing his back.

"Peter, Peter, calm down. Hush," said Lucy, her voice soothing. "Everything's alright. You're alright."

"But Ed—"

He shoved aside the blankets and struggled to his feet, swaying in the haziness the dehydration had gifted him with. His sisters tried to stop him but he stumbled towards Orieus—the Centaur General was leaning heavily on his long sword, eyes closed, sleeping. Peter would've chuckled, and Edmund would've given the cheekiest grin, small dimples appearing on his cheeks—he still had his baby fat. But his brother wasn't here. Because Peter was too weak to save him. And that knowledge hurt more than a stab to the heart.

Peter was still meters away from the General when wind blew at his face, making his long, ruddy hair fall into his mouth (Susan had insisted on giving him a haircut). He spitted his hair out, gagging. And then looked up at the cause of the small hurricane. The blue-jay circled him, laughing and squeaking with delight. "King Peter! King Peter!" Chirp piped, and then perched on his shoulder. His claws dug into his skin. Peter suppressed a hiss and smiled at the bird. He heard his sisters come up behind him.

"How are you, Chirp?" Peter asked, continuing his trek towards the sleeping General. The Cats roused as he passed by them; they bowed. He returned the gesture as he walked ahead.

"Oh! Oh! I haven't felt braver in my life, King Peter! Your sisters tell me you get into trouble a lot! Would you call me the next time? Please?" Lucy giggled. As did Susan.

"He was the one who found you, Peter. He flew for two hours without rest," Susan told him, and Peter suddenly felt a sense of pride. Despite everything.

"And all alone, too!" Chirp added gleefully, flying in front of him. "And when I found you, King Peter, I thought you were…you were…" Chirp's squeaky voice became unusually low as he dreaded the word that would follow. "…dead…I was afraid that…"

"But I'm fine now, Chirp," assured Peter. When he was before the General—who had now awoken and was smiling grimly at him—he said, "They took him. They threw me out, left me to die, and they took him." His words were filled with despise. And rage. He would strangle those witches! "Have the wolves found their trail? They went further south. To…Calormen."

"We're preparing to head for Tashban now, King Peter. We were waiting for you to wake."

"You should have woken me! I—"

"You needed to rest, Peter. You would be no good to Edmund dead," Susan said, grabbing his hand, squeezing it. Peter sighed heavily.

"Yes. Uh...hurry, all of you! We leave in fifteen minutes!" Peter shouted at the working Cats, the Centaurs, and some still sleeping fauns—who were now flusteredly running to and fro, gathering their things.

"Will you find him, King Peter? Oh, I'm sure you will! And I'll help you! I'll fly ahead! I will!" Chirp exclaimed, flying around him again.

"I will find him. And I will bring him home," he said firmly, nodding at his sisters. Lucy gripped his arm.

"Now tell me. Who are 'they'?"

They reached Tashban just before dusk. Since they preferred their sudden visit should remain secret to the Tisroc, they adopted a more discreet approach of searching for Edmund. The smaller beasts, the ones that could blend and mingle, were sent out, searching every street, turning every stone. Eagles and other scouts—including Chirp—surveyed the city from the sky, giving them a wider view. Orieus and the Centaurs, the bigger Cats, and the fauns remained outside the City Gate, on the other side of the river. It wasn't ideal. But it was the best they could do.

Now, Peter adjusted his hood, hiding his glinting golden hair, an absolute distinction from the Southerners. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling odd that it was so short now. Lucy giggled to see this. Susan shrugged, but could not suppress a snicker when she remembered Peter's horrified expression at the mention of cutting of his hair. Susan pulled down Lucy's hood, tucking back her hair behind her ear. Susan didn't have to conceal herself. She and Edmund had the blackest hair. Peter smiled at his sisters as the three progressed forward through the shallow crowd, looking through every window, seeing only Calormene families enjoying themselves, all settled on the rich sofas, wrapped in even richer robes, jewellery dangling from their necks and earlobes.

"Where is he? We've been wandering for almost an hour now," Lucy said. And aimlessly, Peter's mind added impudently. He shook his head.

"We'll find him," Susan assured, smiling grimly at her siblings. Then she gulped. "You know, there's only one place we haven't searched yet."

"Not the tombs!" Lucy cried, her shoulders hunching, a frown sweeping across her face.

"Susan's right, Lu," Peter said, grabbing his littlest sister's shoulder, bringing the three to a halt. "We have to search there, too. For Ed."

Lucy sighed and nodded. "For Ed."

They both looked at Susan. She chuckled. "For Ed."

"Peter?"

Peter turned to Lucy again. "Yes?"

"When we find him, can I punch him first?"

Peter blinked. "It wasn't really his fault. He'd been—" Peter bit his tongue. What had he just said?

His sisters frowned, furrowing their brows. "He'd been what?" Susan asked, rubbing her arm, glaring at the man who'd just bumped into her. He rubbed the back of his head and bowed, muttering an apology. Peter did not miss how brutally he was blushing. He stuttered once, saying something they didn't get. Then bowed again—rather awkwardly—and was on his way. Susan and Lucy looked at him with their brows raised, eager for an answer.

"Nothing. We should—"

"Peter," they both said. They were ganging up on him?

"They…uh…they drugged him," he said, conceding to their glares. He sighed. "Three times before they rolled me out."

He saw Susan clench her fist. "I'm going to kill them, put an arrow through them."

"Susan!" Peter said. That wasn't very gentle.

"What? They tried to kill you, almost did kill you. And they had the audacity to drug my baby brother! And judging by the fact that they have blue hair, I wouldn't be surprised if they're sorceresses."

Lucy smiled, looking rather proud. Peter shrugged. "I was thinking you'd give me the chance."

Lucy coughed, feeling that the conversation was taking a rather dark turn. "We should go. Before the moon rises."

And just as the words left her mouth, the gleaming Moon revealed itself through the floating clouds, brightening the street with its silver glow.

"So much for that."

~o~

"Draw your bows," Peter commanded, unsheathing Rhindon. The sunny laughter echoed off the tall rocks. Shadows fell on them. Peter seethed to see just a glimpse of the blue, flurrying hair. He wrinkled his brows, noticing how their ends were white. An abrupt silence. It was sharply quiet and Peter held up a hand. His sisters exchanged looks but stopped in their place, bringing down their bows. There was a cough and his brother's voice.

"What did you do to my brother?"

Peter looked back at his sisters, the relief evident. He felt his heart's weight lighten. Edmund was alright.

"What did you—"

"Who's there?!" one of the two girls, Ly, yelled, cutting off Edmund's sentence. He heard her step forward.

Peter turned back to his sisters. "It's only the two of them. On my mark." They nodded, gulping. He waited, counting.

"Who are you?"

One.

"Come out!"

Two.

"Reveal yourself!"

And they did.

"Three!" Peter shouted, launching himself at the witch, pinning her against the rock. He brought Rhindon to her neck, holding her hands together. He would not repeat the same mistake. He took pleasure in the choking sounds she made when he pressed his arm onto her throat, intent on making her suffer. For all the agony he and his brother had endured—

"Peter!"

Lucy's voice was frantic. Urgent. He quickly turned, yanking the girl in front of him, sword still at her neck. Lucy and Susan both had their bows pointed at the other girl, Tem. And Tem—

"Ed!" Peter yelled, heart racing at the sight of the dagger digging into his brother's neck. No. No. No. I just found him. "Let him go!" he growled, tightening his hold on Ly, feeling her stiffen.

"Peter…" Edmund sobbed. Peter clenched his jaw.

"I'll make you a deal. You let my sister go and I'll let your pathetic excuse for a brother go. How does that sound?"

Like I want to rip out your throat, witch.

"Alright. Susan, Lucy, put down your bows," he said, glancing at his sisters. They looked unsure. But his eyes told them all they needed to know. They did as he commanded, eyes flaring with fury.

"Hands above your heads!" Tem said, pressing the dagger harder onto Edmund's throat. He heard Ly softly whistle, praising her sister in code. Lucy and Susan raised their hands, jaws tightening.

"There you go," Tem said, then looked at Peter. "Now be a good man, let her go."

"You let him go first," Peter said.

"Do you think me a fool? Is it because we have blue hair?"

Peter huffed, unimpressed. "Same time then." He gulped, preparing to let the witch go. It would hurt. "One." A tear fell out of Edmund's eye. "Two." Peter and Tem both nodded. "Three!"

Ly and Edmund were shoved forward by their captors. Ly and Tem quickly armed themselves with swords. Susan and Lucy, too, had their bows in hand, advancing on the sisters. Peter only kept his eyes fixed on Edmund. His brother struggled forward, feet unsteady, breaths rapid, eyes glistening with more tears. "Peter…"

He fell and Peter caught him, pulling him into a fierce hug, kissing his hair. He heard an arrow being released. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "You're alright."

"I was so scared…" Edmund said, sobbing into his shoulder.

"It's okay."

"They're not nice, Pete. They hurt me. It hurt!"

"I know. And that is why Susan and Lucy are going to kill them."

"It hurt a lot."

Peter hushed him.

"Just like this will."

"Wha—"

But it was too late. A sharp, white pain in his abdomen told him what had happened. The blood seeping out rapidly, soaking his tunic and fingers, told him how bad the wound was. And Edmund's sneer told him that that was not his brother.

Lucy looked at her sister, hiding behind one of the rocks, bow's string still taut, an arrow nocked and ready to fire. She nodded at her, mouthing, I'll go around. And she did just that. Tracing the rocks, she circled around them, hiding in the shadows, staying away from the light of the fire. Quickly, she jumped behind another large rock. Then leaped behind another. And another. Until she had circled around and was standing right behind the taller girl. The older one. Ly. She was watching Susan an Tem as they duelled. Lucy winced to see Susan barely duck in time to avoid a lethal blow of the sword. Then she knocked the girl with her bow.

Speaking of bows…

Lucy lifted her weapon, pulled back her string, it vibrated, clinging. That alerted Ly. But she dared not move. Lucy smirked when the girl raised her hands. "Cease!" she yelled. And at once, Tem froze, staring at her sister and Lucy. Susan grinned and pointed her own bow at Tem. They moved forward, cornering the sisters together. When they were still, and it was clear they would not attempt anything, Susan spoke up.

"Why?"

The blue girls remained silent, lowering their heads.

"What you do to my little brother?!" Susan demanded, furious. The sisters flinched at her voice.

"He's not your brother," Ly muttered, her words barely audible.

Lucy and Susan looked at each other. "What?" Susan shook her head. "It doesn't matter. You deserve to die. But we're not cruel. We'll let you have a trial. Lucy, bind them."

But Ly moved in front of her sister, shielding her with her body. "Please, let her go. You can punish me. It was my idea. But let her go home!"

Lucy's throat closed up. She gulped, feeling sympathy for the sisters. They didn't seem so evil—

But before either Susan or Lucy could react, the moonlight faded, making them blink in the dark—the fire had gone out. They looked up, finding that the clouds had hidden the moon.

"No!" Ly yelled.

And then came a horrifying cry from their left. "Edmuuuund!"

"You're such a fool."

"Ed—"

"You hurt my little sisters!"

"Eddie?"

"You hurt them, and now you're going to pay."

"Ed, please—"

And as Edmund pinned him against the large rock, digging his elbow into his throat, making him choke. He said, "That. Is. Not. My. Name."

"E…Ed…" Peter gasped, desperately struggling for air. Edmund pressed harder. "I…I won't…lea…leave you…" he said, his bloody hands cupping Edmund's face. Edmund flinched, gagging at the smell of blood.

"Get your filthy hands off me!"

Peter stroked his cheeks, feeling the blood soak up to his chest now. "I…I'm here. I'm…r…right 'ere." His voice sounded slurry. And broken.

Edmund brought his face—it was red with Peter's blood—close to Peter's, his elbow digging even deeper, making Peter's eyes widen and pop out. His face was turning red. "I'm not your brother, Peter. He's long gone."

"E…Ed…Eddie…" Peter gasped, jerking against him. His legs were weakening. His breaths fading. Heartbeat decaying.

"Not my name, Peter. Say my name. Say it. It's Acil. Or what my sisters call me, Ace. I prefer that. Say it. Say Ace and I'll kill you quickly," Edmund said, letting go of Peter. Peter fell to the ground instantly, hands going around his throat.

"Ed…"

"Not my name!" Edmund growled, kicking him in the stomach. Peter felt the blood in his mouth. "You will tell me my name!" He kicked him again. Then he crouched in front of him, sneering. "I can feel it, you know. He loves you. He's dying. Just like you. And soon…"

But then the moonlight was gone, rendering their surroundings dark. Peter blinked when Edmund's expression turned into a horrified one. "No…" he whispered.

"No!" someone yelled in a distance.

And Edmund fell. In a second, he crashed to the ground, horribly still. Not breathing.

"Edmuuuund!" Peter yelled, not caring about his own wound at the moment. Edmund wasn't breathing! He leaned over his brother, gathering him in his arms, cradling him. "Come on, Ed. Edmund?" But would it be Edmund if—no, when—he woke up? "Ed!" he screamed, shaking his brother. "Edmund!"

"Quick, Peter! Move aside!" Lucy's voice said, and his sisters shoved him aside, making him moan. But he buried his own pain deep down, glad that his sisters had not yet noticed the enormous amount of blood on his tunic. Lucy gasped at the sight of her brother's bloodied face, and uncorked her cordial. She tilted the vial so as to let a precious drop fall into their brother's mouth, and waited. Seconds passed. No one dared to breathe. Then a minute ticked by. And Susan started sobbing.

Peter took his brother's face in his hands. "Ed? Come on, Eddie, come on. Don't go!"

"Oh, Peter, you're—"

But Peter cut Lucy off. "Ed, please…"

"Peter, you need to—"

"Don't make me kiss you again!"

At that, Edmund's panicked eyes shot open. He jolted up, wiping his mouth. "I swear if you so much as touch me again, I will sew your lips together, Peter. I'm serious—oomph! Peter?"

"Just hush," Peter whispered, holding him close. "You're alright."

"No, Peter, I think…" He pulled away and then gasped. "You're bleeding!"

Susan covered her mouth with her hands. But Lucy acted first. "Quick, drink this," she said, holding the cordial close to his lips.

"I don't…" But he coughed. And droplets of blood splattered out.

"Peter! Drink! Now!"

Lucy practically forced the liquid down his throat. And instantly, Peter's wound shut itself, the blood in his mouth receding. He felt a surge of energy, the familiar smell pleasing his senses. He smiled. "Thank you."

And his three siblings threw themselves at him, forming a huddle. It lasted for mere seconds. They had yet to deal with the two witchy sisters. But before they drew apart, Peter smiled and whispered into Edmund's ear. "Happy Birthday, Ed."

Two months later

Lucy made another futile attempt at whistling as she strolled down the hallway. She frowned. How did Edmund do this? Ly had tried to teach her before the sisters left.

Lucy smiled at the thought of her two new friends.

"Who are you, really? You're not from Calormen. Not from the North," Peter asked, still unhappy that they were unbound.

"We're from Hexatia. We're King Rim's daughters."

She tried whistling again. But she achieved nothing except a wobble of her lips.

"Hexatia? We haven't heard of that before," Edmund said, glancing at his brother.

"It's south of Calormen. We're a small country," Ly replied. "I'm so sorry. For everything. We just wanted our brother back."

Lucy sighed. It had taken Edmund time to accept them as friends, knowing they'd left Peter to die. But he understood in the end.

"Why are you here?" Susan asked.

"Tarkan Onmed caught us years ago. All three of us. He killed our brother, Acil, two years ago. He was only seventeen. Same age as you," Tem said, looking at Peter.

Lucy winced. She gave herself a shake and went on.

"If you will accept our apologies, grant us forgiveness, even though we probably don't deserve it, we—"

"What did you do to Edmund?" Peter asked, voice loud and bold.

"The drug, Asir, was to take away his memories. Last night, after saving him, we performed a ritual. The moon god, Fahima's husband, Lios, allowed him to come to us. His spirit attached itself to your brother's. But then he called him back. Lios called him back. And he…" Then Ly burst into tears.

They had forgiven them, of course. Provided them with an escort to their kingdom. Lucy had been there. And what a delightful place it was! But that is another story. Because right now, a furious cry coming from behind her made her chuckle.

"I'm going to kill you, brat!"

"But you look good!"

Edmund took cover behind his sister, hiding from Peter, who was red in anger. And his hair—

Lucy could not stifle her giggles.

"Don't laugh, Lu! This isn't funny! You're dead, Edmund!"

Susan then emerged through the door of the library. "You dyed his hair blue? Oh, Ed, that's too much!"

And as Edmund ran through the hallways, followed by a blue-haired Peter, he yelled, "It's your birthday gift!"

Fin

If you're curious about Hexatia, see my bio on Narnian Geography.

Author's note: And then I thought, you know what, I'm not evil. And so, I combined the chapters. Sorry I had to delete chapter six. But at least, I didn't give you another cliffhanger. This wasn't angsty enough for Whumptober, I know. But this has kind of turned into a story of its own. And not simply just a prompt. Was the ending satisfying? I tried something different. So, tell me, if it didn't click.

And seriously, how many of you were expecting Edmund to dye Peter's hair?

Response to P: I'm typing the same response twice. But I don't mind! Thanks! The cold was bad. And the headache returned. But I feel much better now. Hope you liked this!

With love,

~Pacifia

Chapter 7: Bleeding

Theme: They Look So Pretty When They Bleed

Prompt: Bleeding

Warning: Very messy, very angsty, very whumpy, very bloody, and very AU.

"Brother, dear brother, 'Twas not my fault," said Peter, putting down his silver knife and silver fork next to the golden plate.

Edmund shook his head, swallowed what he was chewing, and replied, "Oh, but I say you lie. Tell me, brother, my High King, what need did thou see to fight that minotaur? A sturdy one, too. The beast could have easily killed thou in battle. An axe to the head is all death asks."

Peter smiled grimly. "Thy words stab at my heart, brother dearest. You think me weak?"

"Ah, 'Twas not what I meant, brother mine. But even a spirit as valiant as the High King's is not capable of defeating a beast of that build in fair battle, Peter, my brother."

"Thou speak sense, brother. Mayhap I was foolish in my actions."

Edmund only smiled, chewing.

"I feel our sisters call for us. The wind is warm and grave."

"Then go speak to them, brother. Thy heart seeks their sight. Go now, before dusk falls. I will wait for thee."

"Will you not accompany me? Does thy heart, too, not wish to feel their warmth, brother?"

Edmund stood up, wiping his mouth with the silken handkerchief. "Not on this day, brother. For duty demands me. 'Tis that dog, Ilduste."

"He asks for thy presence?" Peter asked, standing up. The brothers then began walking out of the dining hall, tall and straight, shining swords hanging from their hips, merry smiles gracing their features.

"That, I am afraid, my brother, is the case. He says he wishes to renegotiate. But thou know of the evil he bears in his heart. The wrongs he has done. The crimes that mark his hands. His word is not one of truth. What the Tarkan says and means are two different things entirely, High King."

"Then cease this nonsense!" Peter thundered, coming to a stop.

"I do not understand, brother mine."

"Thou wish to meet with that dog when thou know he plays for an evil cause?" Peter grabbed his brother's shoulders, his eyes tender. "If that man takes you from me, you who are my brother and knight, my dearest friend, my soul, my only family, I would surely die. My heart is weakened from the death of our sisters, Edmund. Thy support held me up in the bleakest times. But if you leave me…"

"Come, brother," Edmund said, pulling Peter into a hug. "I will not leave thee. It is a promise. I am bound to it by Aslan." Peter squeezed him once and kissed both his cheeks before pulling away. He cupped his face, running a hand through his long hair.

"I trust thy word, my brother." Then he laughed, his fingers weaving into his brother's hair. "A haircut is what our Gentle Sister would say thou need."

"A King always wears long hair, Peter, my brother. Recall the length of King Gale's hair. The ends reached his knees."

"Pictures are biased, brother. Never do they reflect the whole truth. They are deceiving."

"As is the lie that is life."

"'Tis a life Aslan gave us, Edmund, my King. A being of truth cannot create a life of lie," Peter said seriously. Edmund lowered his head, ashamed. "Doubts rise at times, brother. It is my job to resolve them. Come to me after the meeting, I shall cut your hair."

Edmund looked horrified.

The garden was decorated with maple trees, their leaves shedding now that autumn was approaching fast. The blooming flowers had now left their stems. Some's mouths were closed since the sun was setting low in the east, night creeping across the land. In the middle, there were two stones, grey and grim. They stood beside each other as his sisters had when the bat had murdered them. A tear leaked out of Peter's eye. The brothers hadn't been there to protect their sisters. They had ridden off to war. And while it was over them that death lurked, it claimed their sisters as its prize. Oh, how broken and bloodied their beautiful bodies were! Oh, how their grace had faded! Oh, how the Kings had wept!

Peter wiped his eyes with his handkerchief and walked to the graves that stood an inch taller than him. "We miss thee every day, my beautiful sisters. Thou left us, took thy warmth with thee. Oh, we poor brothers beg thou come back, sisters! Come down from the heavens, from the Land of Aslan! Come back to the west, through the sea should thou sail! Come! Come!" Peter bellowed, feeling more tears pour out.

"My King!" a squeaky voice exclaimed. And Peter turned to see a squirrel jump and run to him. His furry tail between his legs, he said, "My dear High King, oh how my heart weeps!"

"Dear cousin, pray tell, what news do you bring?"

"It is a grievous tiding, sir! One that would break thy wounded heart! Oh, why must it be I to tell you?"

"Cousin, calm down. Breathe now," Peter said, his hands on his knees, gaze focused solely on the little squirrel. "Now tell."

"Thy royal brother, sir, has passed from this world."

Whispers echoed. Some made hollow assumptions. Others condolences. But none did much to lift the stone off Peter's poor heart. No one could get him to speak. Servants and Valets went to and fro, asking him if he needed anything, trying to comfort him, be a friend at this grim time. But Peter remained as still as a statue in his chair beside his brother's death bed—where he had counted his last seconds. He knew it was that dog, Ilduste, who had murdered his brother. Coward, he was, refusing to take him in a fair battle. Took help of a poison. The Valets gave him one last consoling look and hurried out. That meant silence.

Both in air and mind. A shallow mind is a dangerous one. Dangerous thoughts brew in isolation and solemnity. Dangerous indeed. Peter leaned over his brother's still body, resting his tired and heavy head on his chest. His tears soaked Edmund's royal tunic. He clutched to him, his right hand caressing his long hair. How his brother had frowned! Oh, how he missed that cheeky grin of his younger brother! His soul was gone. And Peter had no desire left to live. Would Aslan forgive him? But it did not matter. Peter hadn't forgiven Him yet.

"Oh, now thou hath left me, too, joined our dear sisters in the Lion's country. Do thou look back, at my poor soul? Do thou miss me, brother dear? Do thou call me?" His brother made no answer, only remained still. Peter's hands curled further into his tunic. "Alas, I shall come after all! Whether the Lion wishes it or not." Peter pulled out a shining, silver dagger from his sword belt, feeling it's carved hilt with his fingers. "You, my dagger, shall serve as the weapon that takes the High King's life!" He wrapped Edmund's cold fingers around the dagger's hilt, pressing the blade against his chest. "And you, my brother, you shall aid me in this task! For I am too weak to achieve it on my own! Plunge it into my chest. Let it pierce my broken heart. Let it take me! Take me, Lion! Take me!"

And Peter drove the dagger into his chest, feeling the blade cut swiftly through the flesh, the blood instantly seeping out. His mouth filled with blood. And in a second, the High King had died. Edmund's limp hands left the dagger's hilt and Peter fell forwards, collapsing over his brother's still chest, his lifeless eyes stared at the door, seeing what he could not see anymore: Ilduste sneering.

Minutes passed as the two brothers remained still, dead in each other's arms.

But then Edmund's eyes opened.

"But he is alive, Tarkan. You have failed."

"A fool thinks everyone a fool."

"You have failed, Tarkan. The Younger King rose this morning."

"And now he will fall."

"Brother?" Edmund whispered, smiling to see his brother asleep, sprawled over him. "Peter?" he repeated when his brother didn't stir. "The sun has risen, dawn has come. It is time to wake, brother." Peter still didn't move. Edmund frowned. "Peter?" He looked down, stroking the back of his brother's hair. "Has something upset thee, my brother? Do speak up. For troubles shared are troubles lightened. Speak, Peter!" Then Edmund gasped. "Oh! Oh!"

Edmund jerked up, feeling the sticky liquid on his fingers and tunic. Blood. As he sat up, Peter's body fell to the ground. Edmund screamed.

"Peter!"

Peter is staring at him with wet eyes. Edmund fell beside his brother. He pulled the dagger out of his chest and threw the cursed thing away, pressing his hand onto the wound. But the blood had stopped pouring out. Edmund brought up his hands parallel to his eyes. And screamed again. He rubbed his hands against the covers of the bed. "Off! Off! I will not let my hand be stained with my brother's blood! Off, stain! Off!"*

But it was no use. His hands were red; the blood had dried on them. He pulled his brother up in his arms, holding him close, cradling him as he wept. "Oh, brother, why? What have thou done?! What have you done? Why did Thou take him, Lion?! What right did Thou have?" He wiped his cheeks, settling against the bed, pulling his brother's corpse even closer to himself. "Oh, how am I to live now? An alone ruler? A broken brother? A ripped soul? I can't live, Aslan! Not anymore! Thou killed me when Thou killed my dear brother, Lion! You, yes, You have killed me!"

He whipped his head around frantically, searching. The dagger was well within reach. He picked it. "I do not deserve a quick death, Lion! Suffer, I shall! Let me suffer!"

And Edmund slit both his wrists, drawing long cuts along his nerve, hissing as the blood seeped out. His kissed his brother's head in his lap and waited.

His life drained out with his blood. And within minutes, he joined his brother in death.

Hours later, the Valets, worried for their High King in his grief, entered through the wide doors. And found the most horrible sight. Two Kings, two brothers, dead in each other's arms, drowned in each other's blood. Yet they seemed content. Peaceful.

Finally, they were free.

Fin

*You might recognise this. I borrowed it. From Macbeth. Though the situations and scenes are entirely different.

Author's note: Okay, that hurt, didn't it? I always thought Romeo and Juliet had a strange beauty to it. Like all tragedies do. But since it's Romance, it doesn't appeal that much to me. The love it depicts between the two souls is amazing. And I knew I could take and twist it, and turn into brotherly love. Because we all love that. Angst and tragedy. And Shakesphere's thous and thees! What more could I ask for? Thank you for reading. Do review! And don't forget to read the previous chapter if you missed the update. It was up at an unusual time.

And I updated twice today!

With love,

~Pacifia

Chapter 8: Concussion

Theme: If You Thought The Head Trauma Was Bad...

Prompt: Concussion

No warnings! This isn't whump. Not even angst. Maybe a little bit. But mostly fluff and humour.

Peter let Chirp squeak on about his new mate, the blue jay flew beside him as he walked down the hallway, whistling softly. You couldn't blame him. It was such a beautiful and drama-less day. Those were rare in Narnia. But the peace was soon disrupted (how does one write stories without an unfavourable turn of events?) From the far end of the corridor came a horrible scream (of a dryad's) and Peter sprinted in its direction, Chirp still flying beside him. He reached the scene and it was not a pretty one.

There, head leaning against the wall, body limp, eyes closed, temple bleeding, lay his younger brother and fellow King—who had apparently gotten into trouble again. Big trouble. Peter, concerned for his brother, immediately was on his knees beside his brother. He let him lean against his chest and said, "Edmund?"

"Huh?" Edmund mumbled, fluttering his eyes.

"Oh! Oh! King Edmund isn't dead! He isn't dead, mates! Tell the dryads they can stop mourning now! Yes, yes!" With a flap of his wings, Chirp followed his mates to the gardens, gone to tell the dryads.

Edmund giggled. Peter frowned. "Ed?"

"I fe'l fun."

"Edmu—"

"—ny."

Peter sighed and forced his brother to bow his head. "Ow!" Tracing the back of his head, Peter frowned to feel a big lump.

"I think you've a concussion, Ed."

"Huh?"

"Su! Su!" came Lucy's voice and Susan put down her silver comb, satisfied that her hair was straight and not in a ravel. Her sister stood leaning against the doorframe, snickering, and playing with her golden curls.

"Lucy, are you quite alright? You seem—"

"I m't th' gen'lest man, Su. See? Gen'le-man. Gen'lest man. See?" Then Lucy's lower lip started trembling, and she sobbed. "M' head hu'ts! I hu't my head, Su!"

Susan walked to her sister and glanced where she was rubbing her head. That was a big lump!

"Su?"

"Yeah?"

"I th'nk I've a con…concu…concushion."

"It's concussion."

"Huh?"

"Come on, let's get you on the bed, Ed."

Edmund giggled again, curling into a ball as he was laid down. "Bed rh'mes with Ed!"

Peter turned him onto his back, making him groan. "It does, doesn't it? Now quick, your clothes are covered in blood."

"B'ood!" B'ood isn't good!"

"You're missing an 'l', Edmund."

"It's Buuuuud!

And Peter had successfully managed to distract him long enough to unbutton his shirt. "Yes, of course," Peter said, smiling. "Pull up your arms."

"But I don' wanna! It's too much work!"

Peter sighed and pinned his brother's arms above his head. "Hey!" But Peter merely helped him take off his shirt, frowning at the desperate struggles of his brother.

"If Susan saw you like that, she'd kill me."

"Whot?"

"You see; we have a pact…"

"You silly, silly girl! If Peter finds out you, his favourite sister, his little Lucy, has a concussion…Oh, of all the people…He's going to kill me…" Susan was muttering to herself as she rummaged through the wardrobe, looking for a nice dress that was not covered in mud. "I'm sure he's managed to keep Edmund out of trouble." She sighed, shutting the wardrobe. "I'm going to get some of your clothes. Mine are too big for you. You'll stay here?"

Lucy looked up, unwinding her fingers from her hair. She tilted her head. "Huh?"

"…so, she keeps Lu safe, and I keep you safe. I mean, I, of course, keep all three of you safe. And Narnia safe. Even Archenland now! I—"

"Peter, stop! I'm sleeeeeepy!" Edmund whined, falling onto the bed. He turned to his side, hazed eyes drooping.

Peter shook his brother. Edmund slapped his hand away, moaning. "No! No! Edmund, you'll stay awake until I can get you cleaned up, alright? I'll just go get some water and a salve—"

"But I'm sleeeeeepy!"

"I'll be right back. Promise."

And just as Susan was coming out of Lucy's room, Peter was dashing down the corridor, back to his brother. And fittingly, the eldest Pevensie siblings bumped into each other. Both hid the items they were carrying (Susan a nice dress and Peter a bowl of water and a salve) behind their backs. Both stuttered as they struggled to find the right excuses.

"I...uh...I was..."

"Chirp hurt his wing while flying!" Peter exclaimed, internally sighing.

"Oh," Susan said, her brows furrowing. "You better hurry then, and tell him I wish him a swift recovery! Off with you then! Go on!"

Susan shoved Peter forwards with one hand. And then was on her way, going as swift as a cat. "Susan!" Susan's breath caught. She gulped hard, turning. "How's Lu?"

"Good," she lied, quite nicely actually. "How's Ed?"

"Good," Peter repeated; he, too, was, of course, lying. And no, you shouldn't lie. Not more than three times a day. "He's training with Orieus right now." Oh, Peter, now you've got yourself a lie web. 'Good' would have sufficed. They both stared at each other for a moment, trying to read through. Then Susan jumped up.

"Right then. I'll be off. Take good care of Chirp!"

And when she was out of sight, Peter sighed.

"Seems you lost the bet, sire."

"AH!" Peter screamed, startled. He jumped back, free hand on the hilt of his sword. He blinked. "Mr. Tumnus."

"You lost the bet."

Peter smiled. "Not if she doesn't find out."

Mr. Tumnus smiled back. "Trouble finds your brother."

"No, my brother finds trouble. If you could keep between us, Mr. Tumnus, I'd appreciate it."

Mr. Tumnus opened his umbrella and stomped his hooves. Then he turned, ready to leave through the courtyard he was facing. "Children shouldn't lie," he said, and then was gone.

Gone before Peter could reply, "I'm not a child! I'm nineteen!

"Look at this, Su!" Lucy said as Susan shut the door, and then leaned against it, bumping her head twice on its surface. Then she turned to her sister. She blinked.

"Lucy…is that a…spider…on…your hair?"

"I don't know! But it has six legs!"

And Susan screamed.

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get out this instant. Get out. Get out."

"That's rude, King Peter. I was merely worried. He is my consort."

"Your what? He's fifteen!"

"Sixteen!" Edmund protested from the bed, pouting.

"He's fifteen!" Peter repeated, setting down the salve and bowl of water on the bedside stand. "He's fifteen and you're my age!"

The dark-skinned Tarkheena smiled, her whitest teeth flashing. She sat down beside Edmund who was currently convinced that he had eleven fingers. Edmund looked around four times before he finally found the owner of the hand on his shoulder. "Oh, hey! Ooooh!" he said, playing with her golden earring.

"See? He likes me."

Peter smiled, licking his lips, then looked down at his feet, and looked up again, still smiling, though the smile wasn't a very nice one. Then he barked, "GET OUT!"

"Did you hear that, Lu?"

Lucy looked up from her dress and said, "Whot?"

"Nothing, darling. Come now, you must sleep," Susan said, pulling up the covers, so Lucy could climb under. She did so. And Susan smiled that she was tucking her sister in for bed.

"Mum wasn't here! And I got scared!"

The thunder boomed again, and Lucy snuggled closer to her big sister. Susan stroked her pretty, short hair. "It's alright. Sleep, Lu. I'll keep you safe."

When Lucy finally fell asleep, Susan stretched her arms and stood up. She needed a cup of tea.

"Do ya reme'ber, Petah? Mum brough' me h'me fr'm the infirmary…"

"What? No…"

"I reme'ber! I reme'ber seeing you and your tiny nose and thinking that I love ya!"

"Really?" Peter asked, genuine hope shining in blue eyes.

"No," Edmund laughed. Peter's shoulders slumped and he frowned. "No, you don't 'ave a tiny nose! You 'ave a really pretty nose."

"Alright, Ed. Go to sleep," Peter said, tucking his brother in, stroking his dark hair.

"Then my 'ead won't hu't?"

Peter kissed his hair. "Promise it won't."

"Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Why'd ya send the pretty lady away? She was r'lly pretty!" Then he yawned a really big yawn.

"Sleep, Edmund," Peter said, falling into his chair beside the hearth. "And don't tell Susan you hurt yourself, okay?"

Edmund smiled and right before drifting off, he said, "I won't."

When Edmund finally fell asleep, Peter stretched his arms and stood up. He needed a cup of tea.

"Busy day?" Peter asked, stirring his tea.

"Don't ask," replied Susan, sipping her tea.

Peter sat beside his sister on the couch. "It's hard, isn't it? Being the older ones?"

"And we're never appreciated!"

"I hear you. Com'ere," Peter said, pulling his sister close.

"Edmund got hurt, didn't he?"

"Lucy got hurt, didn't she?"

They both stared at each other.

"How do you know?"

Peter smiled. "Ran into Mrs. Beaver on the way. She told me what happened. She said Lucy fell and hit a rock while chasing a rabbit. Not a talking one."

Now it was Susan turn to smile. "I found Chirp. He…he said…he said you resurrected Edmund. Then Orieus told me he'd hit his head, running away from the Tarkheena."

"I'm going to kill her!" Peter growled, sipping his tea in attempt to calm his nerves.

Susan laughed. "You put him to bed?"

"Or I wouldn't be here, having a nice cup of tea with my favourite sister," Peter said, raising his cup.

"Right," Susan breathed, smiling. "Finally got some time in peace."

"Peter, I'm cold!"

"Su, I lost my blanket!"

The eldest two sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Sure," Peter replied, putting down his cup next to Susan's on the glass table. The fire roared as they both hurried out. And then both hurried back.

"Taking the tea with?" Susan asked.

"Definitely."

Fin

Author's note: For all of you older siblings out there! I can't say I know the struggle since I am an only child. But I've heard stories!

Response to P: These siblings might just be my favourite! Hope you liked this!

With love,

~Pacifia

Chapter 9: Stop, Please

Theme: Please...

Prompt: 'Stop, Please.'

Warnings: Bloody and violent. I won't give you any more warnings since they might spoil the story for you. Quite frankly, I've no idea how this turned into this. Another horrific tale. I'm telling you, I need help. This was supposed to be a different story with a different ending, a more satisfying ending. I made myself cry writing this. Sob like a child. Forgive me. But please, do read on.

The sun was singing above us. The leaves crunching as the horses galloped, whinnying in an exceeding enthusiasm and gladness that the light of the day provided the creatures. The trees swayed as the whistling wind rushed past them, making my hair fall over my eyes and obstruct my vision. But I didn't mind. I merely blew at the ends and they floated in the air for a grand total of two seconds before falling to my face again. My brother gave his horse a kick and laughed when he passed me, even though he was meters behind only seconds ago. I feigned a look of surprise and kicked my horse's back. A race it was. Warm and beaming laughter rang through the woods as I and my brother raced, making squirrels leave their trees, birds leave their nests, dryads come out of their sleep, and the naids wave at their Kings as we galloped by. I tried my best to wave back, unsteady as I was on horseback.

It had been an exhausting couple of days. And very terrifying, too. I, who was now of marriageable age—a shining eighteen! —was not to be shielded from the suitors by my elder siblings; only Lucy had that pleasure now—to last for another year. And I, who had laughed at my brother's misery, and the several hiding attempts from the tittering suitors who managed to flatter me but not my brother in the old days, now thought I ought to apologise. But that could wait for another day. For right now, I had a great lead on my brother. As my horse leaped over a fallen tree and then splashed in the water of the Caldron Pool, I laughed in sheer joy to see that I had won. Finally beat my brother in something! Oh, the pleasure! But then the smile faded as my lips curled into a frown, seeing that Peter had stopped and did not look pleased. I arched my eyebrows, looking questioningly at him. Peter blinked at me.

"We've come too far. At the edge of the Western Woods. Ed, we've heard rumours of bandits wandering near. I was preparing to leave with Orieus right before—"

I blinked. "You were what?"

Peter sighed, looking at me with guilty eyes. "You've been working so hard with that Galman treaty, and resolving our trade problems with the Calormen, and responding to the overly long letters of the Governor for me, and trying to convince King Lune that a short visit to the Terebinthian mines can't hurt, and—"

"Peter—"

"It's been that bad! Why do you think I dragged you out for a ride today! Have you seen yourself?"

I scoffed. "Oh, I'm sorry if I have my eyes on my face and can't do that."

"Have you seen yourself in a mirror?" my brother growled, clearly frustrated by my impudent reply. "You look like we haven't fed you in days! Edmund, you need to rest. And now finally, when you've got some time to look after yourself, I couldn't ask you to come with me to the West. I'm sorry, but you're staying."

"Peter?" I said, amused.

"Yes?"

"We're already here."

Peter looked like I'd just slapped him. He took a sharp breath and gazed around. Finding it quiet and unthreatening, he sighed, and looked at me with seriousness written all over his face. "We're leaving. Now."

He turned his horse about, and I sighed, feeling that I was forced to comply. He'd given me that big brother look. But then an odd sound reached me, though Peter seemed completely oblivious to it. He kept going. It was a scratching sound, like something cutting and scraping. Nails on wood. It was odd. Yet so familiar. I suddenly recalled the many times my little sister had annoyed me with that same particularly infuriating sound. I blinked, glancing around, finding nothing but orange leaves and some bare trees.

And then my brother's scream made my heart lurch out. "Edmund!"

I don't remember much of what happened after that. It's a blur. A hazed collection of memories. Snippets and glimpses. Almost unexplainable. But I shall try my best. First, my horse threw me off. I crashed down. Another hoarse scream echoed in my ears. My brother's voice again. Before I could make sense of what was happening, a large, black figure jumped on me. Literally. The wind rushed out my lungs as I was crushed under the man's weight. My hand instinctively tried to reach my sword but the man was fast. With the weapon he was carrying—I can't remember what it was—he knocked my head. I saw pink stars in the red sky. And then heard Peter's screams again. Though this time he wasn't screaming my name but a string of curses which would not at all look good in print. And then there was another smack. All I knew for a while was blackness. And the sweet taste of grape wine. My dreams were pleasant. Pleasanter than the ugly reality.

~o~

When I came to myself, I was, of course, bound. That was expected. The dehydration wasn't. But winter was approaching fast, and the air lacked moisture. And the last time I remembered drinking water was about five hours before I and my brother went out for a ride. But I had large amounts of it then—a particular one of Peter's suitors' stare was making me uncomfortable. It was only natural I distracted myself with water. I slowly pulled up my head, feeling my neck muscles scream in pain. So, I'd been out a long time. Still. As a result, stiff. I blinked blearily. Until the dark lines invading my vision disappeared and the blurry face of the sneering, dark headed bandit in front of me cleared. I actually sighed, tired of the continuous attempts to kill me and my siblings. They never learnt. The man stirred in his place.

"Oh, we're awake, are we?"

I ignored him. And looked around for my brother. It didn't take me long to find him. Just a little west of me. Bound. But with rougher ropes. The skin around his wrists was reddening. And position more uncomfortable with his hands bound above his head and body hanging from the rope, dangling. His head was dropped ahead. He was still unconscious. The blow must have been bad. I exhaled, trying to suppress the urge to strangle the rambling man in front of me. I just wanted to get to my brother.

"What have you done to him?"

"Oh, nothing much. He resisted. Killed some of my men. They said he didn't deserve the nice treatment we gave you."

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

The man only smirked. And I was inclined to look back at my brother. I hadn't noticed the blood—his tunic was red. And ripped from his shoulders and sleeves. Trails of dried blood had slid down all the way to his feet. I was overwhelmed with fury. "What did you do?! What did you do to him?"

"What we're going to do to you."

And then the man suddenly cut my ropes and my hands were barely supporting my weight as I was forced to my knees. I was weeping. Internally, at least, unwilling to let these men see me as weak and vulnerable. My brother had suffered hours of agony while I slept and drank wine in my dreams. Hours and hours of torture, he had endured. And I couldn't even be by his side. I guess it was a sort of punishment then. What followed. But a brutal one. They dragged me while I grieved. My back was covered in severe bruises and cuts and scrapes by the time they dragged me to the pole opposite to my brother's. We climbed the stairs, and were up on the platform in a second. They tied my hands to the rope hanging from the frame and then pulled the rest of it, lifting me off the ground by my hands. My body swayed under me, my legs kicking uselessly. My position was identical to my brother's. My brother who seemed to be waking. And at not a very convenient time. Not now, Peter, I say even now, you do not wish to see this. But it was not to be so. Unlike me, who had been spared from the torture of seeing my brother in pain, Peter was wide awake for my turn. He snapped his head around twice before finally finding me. His eyes widened, a look of panic on his face.

"Don't! Don't you dare touch him!"

The men all laughed. The one sharpening his butcher knife seemed to find my brother's words more amusing than the others.

"I will kill you. If you hurt him, I will kill you all!"

"Ahhh…" I groaned when I felt a sharp pain in my neck. I couldn't concentrate. My ears were suddenly ringing.

"What did you do? What did you give him?" Peter asked, voice low and calm.

"It elevates the senses. Ral's own creation here," replied the man who'd dragged me, tapping Ral's—I'm only assuming—shoulder. He seemed to be their superior. Chief? I found myself wondering. "He'll feel everything." I blinked thrice as my senses were proving him correct. I didn't just feel everything. I could see and hear and smell everything, too. The butterfly's flapping wings over the flower. The birds' sweet tunes that should've been impossible to hear with the clanging of knives. The small trickle of fresh blood on my brother's temple. His whimpers and silent begs. I could hear his thoughts. Read his face more accurately than I ever could. He was crying. He knew it was inevitable. Utterly unavoidable. I was going to be tortured. And my brother was going to watch. "I'm Hill," said the man who I had assumed as the men's Chief. He circled me, admiring his next victim.

I swallowed before asking, "Why?"

"For fun," came the immediate reply. I looked back at my crying brother. They had done that to him for fun?

"You are monsters," my own voice—which must have been only a whisper—sounded thunderous to my ears. "Who are you?"

"You already said the answer. We're monsters! But if you're really curious, we're hunters. From the West. From beyond those mountains. We hunt in the wild. Hunt animals, get food for our families. But sometimes…. sometimes we hunt men."

"Ed?" Peter gasped, struggling against his bonds. "You alright?"

Before I could give him a nod, Hill said, "Oh, he is now. But won't be. Poor him. And poor you! Forced to watch baby brother get tortured. You should've just slept. But hey, this is more fun!"

Ral was walking towards me with his knives. I could hear his excited laughs.

"Please," Peter begged. "Take me."

"Oh, but we've already have our fun with you, haven't we? You're boring now," said Hill, smiling evilly. "Let's get this done before it's dark, boys."

"Don't hurt him!" Peter screamed, thrashing now. "Don't you dare hurt him! I will kill you all! I'll kill you!"

And Peter screamed when they drew a long cut on my chest. I never even groaned.

~o~

I was panting. My whole body ached. And yet they cut me again. And again. And again. I heard the blood drip on the wooden platform. Felt the warmth leave when the sun sank. Felt the blood pumping ferociously in my veins. My heart beating at a furious pace. My fever come back. Sweat slide down my temple. The whip strike against my back. The painful groan I let out. Another cut, just along the shoulder bone. And I let just a squeak leave my lips. One tiny indication of pain. And my brother was begging again.

"Please. Please, take me instead. I beg you. I beg you, stop. Stop, please!"

But it was no use. And he was back to screaming with me when they took put another nail in my right foot. My body was slowly shutting down. Due to blood loss, of course. Or maybe shock. I've done quite a thorough study. Especially after this particular event. My left arm was numb. Whatever they did there, I couldn't feel. My chest was burning. My throat was itchy with thirst; the dehydration, too, was slowly killing me. Then they brought back the hammer. I dreaded the hammer. Broken bones are a nasty business. This time they hit my shoulder. My control snapped and I screamed. And wailed. And cried. Until my throat ripped. Peter was screaming with me. His cries were more desperate than mine. Screams hoarser. Wails more animalistic. It was as if he was dying beside me. When I was given the small mercy of a second's rest, Peter would start begging again. But he only provided amusement to the men.

"Please! Please! I beg you!"

When the begs didn't work and they started whipping me again, Peter threatened.

"I will kill you. I will kill every single one of you. I will kill you all! Do you hear me? I will kill you all!"

And he did. He killed them all.

~o~

"And you—oh, you don't get to die so quickly," I heard someone say when I came to myself again. Someone was holding me. Someone familiar.

"Peter, don't," a voice said, very close to me. It belonged to the one who was holding me. Male, I could tell. Familiar.

"Eat. Eat it!"

"Peter!"

"Chew. That's it. That's good. Feel it? Feel the pain?"

I groaned, stirring in the person's lap. Everything was so blurry and grey. And spinning. I couldn't focus. I couldn't see. I could only listen to the whimpers. Whimpers. Really sad whimpers. As if—

"Peter, don't do this, please. Edmund wouldn't—"

"Shut up!" my brother's voice thundered. I buried my face in my salvager's chest, groaning, gasping, feeling the intense pain consume me. "Now, this will hurt especially. The nail bit you did with my brother? Let's repeat that! How did you do it? Oh, yes, just take the hammer and—"

"Peter! What are you doing?!"

"I said, SHUT UP!" I moaned again, crying desperately. But the person couldn't hear me. He wouldn't tend to me. "Oh, you're afraid, are you? Do you think my brother felt the same way? Do you think so, Hill? But don't worry, it'll be over soon."

"Aaaa!" came a horrible scream. I hid from it, closing my eyes, curling further into the person's chest.

"Doesn't feel good, does it?"

"Peter, you will regret it if you don't stop. You. Will. Regret. It. This man has suffered enough. Just let him die."

"You will stay out of my way, Dracus."

"Or what? You'll kill me?"

"I'm not feeling very rational at the moment. I just might."

I was sobbing now. There was so much pain! "Please, Peter…Edmund is…Edmund's awake!"

Then came the sound of a metal clashing onto the ground. I sobbed, still gasping. I couldn't breathe! Then warm, sticky, and red—I caught just a glimpse—hands took me from Dracus. My brother settled me in his lap, cradling me as if I was a four-yea-old child. He stroked my cheek, pressing numerous kisses onto my face. Loving, full of warmth kisses. I melted, feeling at ease all of a sudden. "Ed? Eddie?" I couldn't reply. Couldn't move a muscle. I just wanted to sleep. He ran his hands through my hair, kissing my forehead again. "Edmund, come on, just nod. Or blink. Just tell me you're alright. Please…"

But the world was dark for me.

~o~

My hands were shaking as I stirred my tea, feeling too warm wrapped in so many blankets. I glanced at my brother once and then looked away immediately.

"Ed—"

"Don't."

"Edmund, please—"

"I said, don't!" I growled, and some of the tea spilled over my shirt—courtesy of my shaking hands. Peter offered me his handkerchief. I took it for the sake of politeness. Wiping my shirt, I said, "You beheaded all of them? Every single one?"

"I said I would. It was their own fault. They didn't listen—"

I shook my head, crushing the handkerchief into a ball. I threw it into the fire. I took just a sip of my tea. "And Hill? What did you do to him? Don't try to lie. Dracus told me everything."

"Then why make me say it?"

I remained silent, just glaring at him.

"I…I…"

I laughed. "You have trouble just saying it? I can still hear his screams, Peter!"

Peter flinched.

"Say it, come on. Be a man. Say it!"

"I…tortured him."

I sipped my tea again, trying my hardest to control my nerves. "How did he find us?"

"What, he didn't tell you?"

"I want to hear it from you. Tell me how he found us. Tell me how Dracus found us!"

I saw Peter flinch again from the corner of my eye. "One of…One of…One of Hill's men led him to us. He…He couldn't bear…"

Peter trailed off, cracking his knuckles nervously. I took another sip of the boiling tea, and said, "Get out."

"Edmund…"

"Get out now. And don't come back."

"Ed, please. Please don't do this." You have to forgive me. Aslan forgave me!"

"I will. But not yet. Now get out!"

Peter looked at me with teary eyes, sobbing. "Are you telling me you wouldn't have the same if they'd tortured me in front of you?" Peter asked, eyes glimmering with fresh tears. I shook my head disappointedly.

"No, Peter, I wouldn't have. If they'd done to you what they did to me, and had made me watch, I wouldn't have beheaded them and tortured their Chief," I replied, trying not to flinch at the look of hurt he gave me. "Now get out."

Peter wiped his eyes with his sleeves, ran his hands through his hair, and gulped. His voice was shaky from the sobs. "I…I hope you get well soon, Edmund." And then in an instant, he was at the door. He turned the knob.

"And Peter?"

He turned, watery eyes still hopeful, still begging me for forgiveness.

"Send Dracus in, will you? He owes me a game of chess."

It was the last slap. The last cruel slap. Peter nodded as I sipped my tea. And he left. I let out a breath, my whole body trembling. Those were the last words I said to him. Ever. He left then. And he just…left. Murdered in his sleep by Hill's brother. Stabbed in the heart. Lucy found him. She screamed for an hour. The irony. I, of course, killed my brother's murderer. Tortured him till his last breath.

And now as I write this, twenty-five, weeping every night even now, I just wish I could say, "I lied, Peter. I lied. I would've done the same."

Fin

Author's note: Definitely an AU even though Dracus appears. I wanted it to be a character I was familiar with. Someone Edmund could use to make Peter jealous. I hate myself. I hate Edmund. I hate this ending. Frankly, I think I hate this story. And the stupid tragic ending! Not what I had in mind. Definitely not. But it just seemed to be better this way. And I couldn't resist it. I've written three death fics out of six stories. In half my stories, one of the brothers or both die! I can't. I need to switch to humour again. Yes, definitely. Helps my brain. Keeps me happy. I'm switching to humour! My brain tells me my switch won't last very long. I always come back to angst. What about mystery then? I like mystery. Mostly because I've been binge-watching Sherlock. I'll write mystery! Yes, a humour story. And a mystery! Perfect. Just you wait, my lovely readers!

Sorry about the ramble. I just really hate the ending! But I also love it. A dark part of me loves it. Anyway, thanks for reading and do review!

And if any of you know how to get rid of viral fever, could you tell me? This one won't leave me alone!

With love,

~Pacifia

Chapter 10: Sleep Deprivation

Theme: What's a Whumpee gotta do to get some sleep around here?

Prompt: Sleep Deprivation

No warnings! Told you I was going to be writing humour! Hope you like it! And the prompt doesn't really have much to do with the story. Just how it begins. Does it disqualify this? But they said we were free to use them in whatever way.

It was really a beautiful morning when Edmund finally left his room for the first time in three days. Now twenty, a man, and a great King, Edmund saw fit to work through the night. And not sleep in three days. As a result of the sleep-deprivation, Edmund's feet were unsteady. And he was wandering the halls like a drunkard. He smiled at the servants who greeted him, hardly able to tell if it was a dryad or a badger. But he heard one of them whisper that they ought to send for his siblings. Edmund was inclined to think that that was actually a very good idea. Because he was going to collapse right there, right then. He counted in time with his steps. One. Two. One again, since he moved backwards. Two. Three. And two again. Three. And ten. Because that's what comes after three. Unable to hold himself up any longer, Edmund fell. But he never hit the ground.

"Oh, your Majesty, are you alright?"

Edmund blinked, looking up at the face of the beautiful red-haired lady who'd saved him. Her fiery red curls brushed past his face. And he melted in their embrace. Her red, lush lips were moving, but he heard nothing. She was talking in slow-motion. Her green eyes were making Edmund internally moan. Her palest cheeks showed a touch of pink. Because she was blushing. Oh. Edmund forced himself to stand up, straightening his royal tunic (one he'd been wearing for two days). Still hazed, it took him a moment to find the lady's hand. He took it and brought it to his lips. Kissing it, he smiled at her.

"I'm quite fine, milady. May I ask, who are you?"

The lady flushed again. "I'm one of Queen Susan's ladies-in-waiting, my King. I was recently employed. We met at Anvard. My brother is a soldier in Archenland, Majesty."

"Ah, I see, lady. You are most welcome in Narnia. But you haven't told me your name."

"I am Isis, my Lord King. But I don't understand why you would wish to know the name of a servant."

"Oh, not a servant, milady. Certainly not a servant. Your beauty would be wasted," Edmund said, lost again in her green, enchanting eyes.

"Ed! There you are! Finally got the time to leave your room, did you? I reckon you haven't—Who's this?" said Peter as he ran to his brother. Edmund didn't reply at first, just staring into those green irises. An ocean resided in them. He couldn't look away. "Ed!" Peter exclaimed, shaking his brother's shoulder. Edmund blinked, breaking out of the trance.

"Peter. Oh, right. This is Isis. Susan's lady-in-waiting."

"Yes, yes. It is a pleasure, milady," Peter said, kissing the lady's hands. She blushed. Edmund coughed, suddenly standing between his brother and the lady, desperate to form some distance between them.

"You should go, Peter. I shall give her a tour. Will milady be pleased?"

Isis opened her mouth to reply, but Peter just had to interrupt, didn't he? Edmund wanted to hear her voice. "But Edmund, you need to rest. How about I show her around?"

"No!" Edmund bellowed, turning. Peter blinked. You don't get to have her! "I'm quite fine, brother. If you will, milady," Edmund said, offering Isis his arm. She linked her arm with his, smiling. "Tell our sisters I will be in the gardens, Peter."

"Edmund—"

But Edmund was already gone with the lady.

"You're telling them this story again? Why this one?"

"Because I like it, Ed. I'm the hero in this one."

"No, you're not."

"But I am!"

"Besides, you don't even tell it right. Let me try."

"No. Now, where was I, good squirrels?"

"The lady took King Edmund!"

Edmund rolled his eyes.

Two days later

"Something's wrong, sisters. Terribly wrong."

"What do you mean, Peter?" Susan asked, sipping her tea. She set her cup down back onto the saucer, and cut a tiny piece of the pastry. Taking the dish in hand, she smiled at her brother, pleased by the beauty of the day. She ate a small piece and choked when Peter suddenly spoke up.

"But he hates girls!"

Lucy giggled from the other sofa. And Susan was still in the process of tapping her chest and trying to get the stuck piece of pastry slide down her throat. She swallowed and looked at her brother, hoping her face wasn't red from the lack of air. "It is only natural, Peter. You're just jealous."

"Jealous? What?"

"He's been spending all his time with her and you're jealous."

"That's not true!"

Susan sipped her tea. "You've had a number of courters yourself. Remember that Galman lady? If her father hadn't died, you two would be happily married. And I and Lucy would have a nephew to play with. And it would be a nephew."

Lucy giggled again and Peter gave his sister a horrified look. "Susan! I'm only twenty-three!" Peter said, turning red.

"Twenty-four."

Lucy was straight-out laughing now.

Peter scoffed. "And that Galman lady was more interested in Edmund than me. I was going to send her back but I didn't need to."

"But what about others? Lord Dar's niece? She was perfect for you! You have the same hair-colour!"

"Like hair-colour is a decider," Peter said, rolling his eyes. "She was nice and everything. But…"

"But what? What about the Duchess then? What went wrong there?"

"Her head was too big."

"I'm sorry. I'll be right back," Lucy suddenly said, face red from laughing. She could hardly breathe. She left, her laughter still echoing. Susan turned back to her brother.

"These are just excuses, Peter. You are afraid of marriage, aren't you?"

"No, Susan, I'm afraid of women. But at least I've had courters. Edmund was never interested in this sort of stuff. He's married to Narnia."

"We're all married to Narnia," Susan said, sipping more of her tea.

Peter jumped up on his sofa, crossing his legs. He started biting his nails nervously. "He hates girls. He thinks they're all airheads! And I agree!"

"Hey!" Susan said, wrinkling her brows.

"Not you, of course. You're our sisters. You're the only women we're comfortable around. That lady has enchanted our brother, Susan. Please, you've to help me."

"Help you with what?"

Peter just smiled.

"I think I should tell this part of the story, Peter."

"Are you sure we should? They're only children."

"But we want to hear! Please! We promise we won't tell anyone!"

Edmund propped his chin on his palms and just listened. Fiery curls floating, green eyes shining, red lips talking, her beauty was alluring. Isis was talking about how her father would tell her and her brother horror stories at night, and how they'd not sleep for days in end. Then she asked him if he'd been scared sometimes. Edmund blinked, stepping out of the trance again. He swallowed.

"Oh, yes, lady, many times. Before battles. After battles. I've been scared a lot."

"Battles. I've heard you're a warrior," Isis said, shifting closer to him on the sofa. Edmund stiffened, mind racing.

"Ah, yes. A knight, you see, milady," Edmund said, trying his hardest not to stutter. She placed her hand on his. Edmund got goosebumps. "Lady…"

"Hush now," she said, putting a finger on his lips, bringing her face closer to his.

"But lady…" Edmund tried.

"Shush!" she said, her lips now an inch from his. He could feel her breath. "Do you wish to go on, my King?"

"Uh…uh…yes," Edmund said, and she brought her face even closer. Their lips just brushed past. But then a horrible crashing sound thundered throughout the castle. Edmund stood up. And Isis grunted. "What was that?"

"We better go check," Isis said, sighing.

"I told you it was a terrible idea!"

"We needed to get information! And you didn't have a better idea. Now quick. We have to get out before they find us!"

"Why can't you just be happy for him?"

"Because he's enchanted, I know it!"

"You're just jealous of her."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are—"

"Oh, my King." And Peter stopped squirming, giving up on freeing himself from under the cupboard without help, and looked at the door to find his brother and that witch, Isis. His brother was shaking his head at him. Peter opened his mouth to explain but Edmund held up a hand.

"You're unbelievable, Peter. You just can't bear it, can you? That I was the one she chose? How can it be that a lady would choose me over the Magnificent High King?" Peter tried to explain again, feeling his heart rip to shreds at the words, but Edmund continued. "You know what, Peter, you can try all you want. But you can't have her!" And then Edmund locked his lips with the lady. The situation was so awkward, Peter and Susan had to look at the ceiling. The pair drew apart. Peter blinked at his brother. "I'm marrying her."

"What!" Peter and Susan both exclaimed, baffled by their brother's declaration. "You're joking, right? He's joking, right?" Peter said, glancing from his brother to Susan.

"No," Edmund said. He pulled the lady close with one arm. "We don't want a grand wedding. Just her brother and father. And some of our closest friends. You can come, too, Peter. If you want. Come on, love."

And the two left. Peter blinked at the empty doorway and turned to his sister. "He's joking, right?"

Three days later

"I'm going to strangle that witch!"

"Peter—" Lucy said, trying to get her pacing brother to sit down. Peter shook off her hand.

"I'm going to kill her. Yes, strangle her to death!"

"Peter! How are these threats going to help?" Susan yelled, falling onto the wide, sleek bed. "I and Lucy have tried talking to him numerous times. But he just won't listen. Whatever spell she has him under is a strong one."

"Oh, you believe it's a spell, too, now! If you'd just listened to me before—"

"We did! And it didn't help! Now think," Susan said, thinking. Lucy sat beside her sister.

"I'm happy for him," she said. Peter stopped abruptly and gave his littlest sister the sharpest glare.

"I'm sorry. What?"

"I'm happy for him! Have you seen how much he's been laughing this past week? What if he just really loves her?"

"No, no, no," Peter said, laughing. "He hates tittering ladies like her! He's only twenty! He never told me he wanted to get married!"

"He doesn't have to tell you everything, Peter. He's not ten anymore. He hasn't been ten for ten years now. Just accept it."

"Susan, will you please talk to our sister? She's talking mad!"

"Peter—"

"No, don't you dare! Don't you dare! Do you know why I left all those ladies, Susan? You wanted to know, right? You want to know what I'm really afraid of?"

"Peter, please—"

"I'm afraid of losing my family!" Peter thundered, making his sisters flinch. "You just don't understand, do you? You don't…you don't understand!" Peter ran his hands through his hair. "She'll take him away. She'll take him!"

"Peter, they're going to stay right here. With us," Lucy offered, feeling guilty now.

"No! He'll stay here with her. He never talks to me anymore. He—I can't. I can't let her take my brother!"

"PETER! How dare you!"

Before Peter could so much as blink, his collar was seized and he was pinned against the wall. Edmund punched him across the face, making him see stars for a moment. Peter shook his head, trying to focus again. But Edmund punched him again.

"Edmund!" his sisters exclaimed.

"Look at me!" Peter did. "I'm going to kill you."

"What?"

"You don't deserve the title of High King!" Another punch. Peter licked his lips, barely able to make out Edmund's face in front of him. Peter could feel a trickle of blood flowing down his temple. "I'm going to kill you." And then he was punched again. Peter's head dropped ahead.

"Edmund, stop it!" their sisters said, trying to hold him back. "You'll kill him!"

Edmund let him fall to the ground. And Peter happily welcomed the rest. He groaned, looking up.

"Edmund, no!"

Edmund had his sword pointed at him, ready to kill.

Peter waited.

"And then he stabbed me!"

"Peter, please don't lie to the squirrels."

"But—"

"Shut up. Let me tell you what happened, okay?"

Edmund stared at his brother, panting heavily, sword still pointed at his brother. Peter never moved. He was just waiting. His face showed acceptance. Edmund then suddenly realized where he was, what he was doing. And he immediately dropped his sword. He took some trembling breaths and fell beside his brother.

"Peter, are you alright?"

"I think so—"

"What? That's not right! You'd beaten me to a pulp! I was dying!"

"You barely had a scratch on you, Peter. Moving on. So, dear cousins, where was I? Oh, yes. So, King Peter was alright. And I apologized to him."

"That's it? That's all you're going to tell them? What about how you sobbed like a child in my lap?!"

"We agreed not to talk about that, Peter. Now, shut up! But the story is not finished, dear friends. Oh, no. I had been freed of the enchantment, yes. But the witch was still a threat. To us and to Narnia."

"Oh, oh! You tell the story better than King Peter!"

Peter rolled his eyes.

"So what did you do, King Edmund?" asked the littlest squirrel, jumping up and down on a root.

Edmund opened his mouth to answer but Peter interrupted. "Oh, he didn't do anything, good cousins."

"So, was it you?" the squirrel asked, skittering towards him, going too fast for Peter to even catch his movements. He hopped onto his lap. And Peter swallowed. "Did you kill the bad lady, King Peter? Like you said you would?"

"I—"

"He did nothing of that sort, cousin!" said Susan. The brothers turned to find her and Lucy making their way to them. They shifted to one corner of the picnic mat, allowing their sisters to sit with them. Susan picked the squirrel up. He giggled. "Our brothers protect us. But we protect them, too, my cousin. It was I and Queen Lucy that rid Narnia of the witch."

"How?"

"It happened thus: After…"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Lucy asked, giggling as she fed Edmund more blood—err, ketchup.

"Oh, very much, dear sister," Edmund said, licking his lips to taste more of the ketchup. "It's hot!"

"Shut up, Ed. Now, tell me, how long can you hold your breath?" Susan asked, sewing a dagger so it would hang from his tunic.

"About five minutes," Edmund replied, proud.

"That's rot! Tell us the truth?" Lucy said, spilling more ketchup over the wound in his abdomen.

"No, really! Five minutes!" Edmund said, swallowing more of the ketchup.

"I've seen you drown in thirty seconds, Edmund. Now tell us the truth. It is vital that we know the truth," Susan said, moving back to admire her handiwork. The dagger was holding up and with all the fake guts splattered around the wound, and fake blood— "Yeah, just leave. I can't see this." She shoved her brother out the door. And he collapsed right there. "Hold the ball under your armpit! It'll stop your heartbeat!"* Susan said, tossing him the squash ball.

"Wha—"

"Trust me," Susan said.

"Alright," Edmund said, sighing. He put the ball under his armpit and laid down. Before he shut his eyes, he said, "Three and a half minutes! Swear!"

Susan and Lucy shut the door. "He means two minutes," Susan said.

"Yeah."

"But wait! Where's King Peter!" the squirrels asked, anxious.

"I will always hate you three for this," Peter said, his arms crossed, and lips curled into a frown. "How could you not tell me!"

"Peter—" Edmund tried, rubbing his brother's back.

"After all we've been through, you still thought it was alright to put me through something so traumatic? I wept for four hours in that cell! Four hours of non-stop tears until you finally came to get me and I saw Ed. I felt like I was dying!"

"But you were the one who made the act believable, Peter," Susan said. Peter pouted like a child, and Susan turned back to the squirrels. "And then…"

Susan didn't need to fake her tears. Just seeing her brother like this made her cry. She was sobbing into Lucy's shoulder when Peter finally found the time to show up. They had only a minute and a half left now. Peter shoved past the crowd, muttering apologies, his voice was shaking. Oh, Susan dreaded this part.

"Ed, wha—"

Peter tried to reach for his brother but Susan shoved him away, gathering Edmund's body in her arms. "Don't you dare touch him! You killed him!"

"What? Susan—"

"Take him!"

"No!" Peter struggled past the Narnians who were trying to hold him back. He fell beside his brother. And taking his pulse, he screamed. "Edmuuuund!"

Susan had to flinch. But she shielded her brother's body from Peter. "Take him!"

Peter thrashed and twisted violently in the Centaurs' hold. "Let me go! Let me go to my brother! I didn't kill him! For Aslan's sake, release me!"

"Take him to the dungeons. He shall stay there before we can arrange for a trial."

"Let me go!"

"Oh," said the squirrels grimly, looking at Peter.

"I told you it was cruel."

"Oh, come on, Peter. I winked at you!" Edmund exclaimed. Susan raised her brows at him. Such a risk?

"What? No, you didn't," Peter said with conviction, voice quavering as he remembered what had happened.

"I did! Like this!" And then Edmund gave him the quickest wink one could imagine. Only the squirrels saw it.

"You call that a wink? Edmund! If you wanted to tell me, you could've just breathed!"

"And then you would've joyously embraced me and told everyone of our plan! A wink would've warned you. And it was way subtler. You're just not observant. It was your own fault."

"You little—"

"Peter!" both his sisters exclaimed, gesturing at the squirrels who were blinking rapidly at all of them.

Peter rubbed his head. "Right, sorry. I think I should tell this part?"

"Go on!" exclaimed the squirrels.

"Right. So…"

"It can't be true…It…Oh, Aslan, please!"

Peter couldn't breathe through his tears. Knees pressed against his chest, and chin propped up on them, Peter was rocking on the ground, hiding in the darkness. Hiding from the truth. The cold, stinging truth.

"No need to get all poetic!"

"Shut up, Ed. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, I was weeping in my cell. And then the lady came."

Peter stood up and flinched back when the cell door opened. Dim light poured in. And a silhouette walked in. Peter blinked, trying to make out the figure. But then light reflected off her red curls. And Peter knew.

"You jealous bastard."

"Peter!" all three exclaimed.

Peter rubbed his head again. "Sorry. But it really was what she said! Not lying!"

"Just tell the story," Edmund said, rolling his eyes.

And before Peter could react, the lady curled her pale and fair hand into a fist. And Peter could suddenly not breathe. His hands went to this throat and he fell to his knees, choking. She circled him, sneering. Giving him the deadliest glares.

"You couldn't bear to see your brother happy, could you? So jealous that I loved him and not you. Do you wonder, High King, why I loved him? And why I despise you?"

Peter would have told her she was a—

"Don't you dare say it, Peter," Lucy warned, gripping his arm.

"Right, sorry. I would have told her she was an angel from heaven with a beautiful rainbow wand!"

But he was choking, struggling to get even a little air inside his lungs. He crawled away from the lady when she advanced on him, taking small, enchanting steps. Her hands moved and he was pulled to her. She grabbed his face and lifted him off the ground, his feet dangling beneath him. He twisted, but no use. Her grip was firm.

Bringing her face closer to his, she said, "I loved him because he was more of a man than you. A better King. A Kinder King. Smarter. Devious and sly. Cunning yet merciful. He was perfect. And his eyes…Oh…"

"You know, now I think we shouldn't have killed her. She was rather nice."

"Shut up, Edmund!"

Peter's vision had gone dark and he was unconscious by the time his siblings burst in.

"Not true. No. He was perfectly fine. Just a little bruise around the neck. That's all," Edmund told the squirrels.

"Oh, let me have my fun! And then…"

"Get away from him!" growled Edmund, sword pointed at the lady. Susan and Lucy, too, had rushed in with bows ready in hand. The lady dropped Peter, letting him form a heap on the ground. He coughed, gasping, his face red, and eyes red and rheumy from the corners. He crawled to the wall, still not having noticed his brother. He hid in the corner as the battle unfolded; he didn't see how the lady knocked the bow out of Susan's hand with another subtle movement of her fingers, but she was too slow to anticipate Lucy's attack. His littlest sister tackled Isis to the ground, pinning her hands. She struggled, now rendered powerless. Susan took the opportunity to put an arrow through her.

Peter still sat in the corner, eyes squeezed shut, hands covering his ears, heart still broken, mind racing, blood pumping in his veins. Frankly, he was terrified. But then someone cupped his face. Now, he knew that touch. He knew the faint voice that was saying his name. And he almost didn't dare believe. Didn't dare to allow his heart to be shattered a second time. He looked up. And was immediately sobbing.

"It's okay, it is. Come on," Edmund said, pulling his brother close. "I'm alive. I'm alive."

Peter just cried.

"Peter, that's beautiful!" said Lucy, resting her head on his shoulder, rubbing his arm, since she noticed he was tearing up again. Susan wiped her eyes with her handkerchief.

"It really was."

Peter gave a little sitting bow and said, "Thank you."

"No."

The three siblings and the squirrels turned to Edmund. "What?"

"That did not happen."

"What do you mean?" Peter asked, blinking.

"You punched me! Four times!"

"Well, the sod that was you deserved it! You traumatized me!"

Lucy and Susan giggled. Edmund scoffed. "As soon as he saw me, he punched me! Right across the face. Broke my jaw! He never even apologized! And it wasn't even my idea! It was Susan's!"

"I hugged you afterwards, didn't I?"

"Yeah. After breaking my jaw!"

"Oh, come on, I'm sorry," Peter said, giving Edmund a brotherly hug. Edmund didn't welcome it but returned it nevertheless. "I love you, Ed. Forgive me?" Edmund rolled his eyes but nodded into Peter's shoulder.

"Well, what happened?" asked the littlest squirrel.

Susan answered, "We buried her, of course. And then…everything went back to normal."

"For a week. Then Peter and Edmund had to go fight in the North. And Peter came back with a bashed head—"

"Oh, don't remind me," Peter told Lucy, standing up. He stumbled once—his legs were asleep. He walked to the basket his sisters had put under the tree and pulled out a sandwich. He took a bite.

"You were dying to get injured in the story a moment ago! What happened now?" Edmund asked as he stood up, too, to join his brother.

"Fictional injuries are good; they make you the hero. Real ones aren't; they're nightmares. And…"

"Peter?" Edmund asked when his brother suddenly stopped talking. "What is it?" Peter dropped the sandwich. "Peter!" Edmund exclaimed when Peter fell to his knees. "Pete? Peter? Hey! Talk to me! What is it? Peter!"

But Peter had stopped breathing. Edmund panicked. "PETER!" He took his pulse and—

"No! No, no, no…You…Peter!" Edmund cried, pulling his brother's still body close. "Peter, please…" he said, sobbing uncontrollably now.

But Peter never responded. His heart wasn't—

But it was.

He could hear his heartbeat.

"I'm going to kill you, you bloody idiot!" Edmund said when Peter pulled apart, laughing in his face. "You're a dolt!"

Peter had proved to be the wiser and was already running away from his brother.

"You're a dead man walking, Peter!" Edmund said, running after him.

Susan and Lucy giggled, turning back to the squirrels who looked confused. "Why did King Peter do that, Queen Susan?"

"Revenge, my good cousin, is a sweet thing," Susan told him, smiling. Lucy bumped her shoulder, snickering again.

"Run, Edmund, run!"

Susan barely had enough time to catch the squash ball Peter tossed her as her brothers ran past them. "Wha—Oh."

"My Kings!" exclaimed Princess Alaura, running after Peter and Edmund with her skirts gathered in her hands. "But you said you'd teach me how to swordfight!"

Susan glanced at Lucy. "Leave them?"

Lucy picked her saucer and raised her cup of tea. The squirrels all blinked. "Leave them. It's been nearly a year since someone tried."

"I'm going to enjoy this."

"Me, too, sister dear. Me, too."

Fin

*Some sections of artery sit over a bone or thick muscle, allowing you to feel its movement by pressing it. These are what are commonly referred to as your pulse; the most useful ones are at your neck (carotid artery), armpit (brachial artery), wrist (radial artery), knee (popliteal artery), groin (femoral artery) and ankle (tibial artery).
By pressing against the tennis ball, you are slowing the rate at which blood can flow through the arm's brachial artery and slowing the pulse rate, until it is difficult to feel at all. ~Arianna Lee on Quora

And yes, I found out about it on Sherlock. :-)

Author's note: I really am pleased with this story. And it might be a little rushed and not my best writing. But I'm really pleased. Tell me what you think! And also, I'm sorry I've been late in responding to reviews. I've been sick. And the pills have made me dizzy.

Response to P: Thank you very much! I'm sorry I scared you again. I scared myself, too!

With love,

~Pacifia