Kings, Dungeons and Castles: Part II
"Knowledge without justice ought to be called cunning rather than wisdom."
~Plato
Peter had started pacing. Apparently the guards had decided to let him stay unbound; there was no way for him to escape. The castle was situated on a high cliff and the dungeons were very cleverly built on the top of the building, making sure that the window could not serve as an escape route. The only way for him to leave the horrid cell would be through the door which was currently locked and Peter was certain it would not be opening any time soon.
Peter let out a frustrated sigh. His lips wobbled as he breathed out heavily and cracked his knuckles, filling the cell with a satifying pop. He snorted again when the initial distraction whirled away. How had Edmund managed to stay locked in here for so long? And in shackles. His brother had been right, he was stupid. What was he thinking? Coming to rescue him alone? From the Terebinthian castle? When it was heavily guarded?
"Stupid!" he shouted, kicking the wall and only making himself wince in the pain that shot through his leg. Edmund would have been much calmer, sharper. Not stupid and frustrated like him, wanting to smash everything in view.
"Stupid," he said, his voice only a whisper this time as the reality of the situation settled in. He wondered if Orieus had noticed his absence yet. Of course he has. Then, he would be on his way, ready to rescue his Kings. I hope.
He sank down and leaned against the cold wall. Hour-like minutes passed painfully slowly. Wanting to rid himself of the disturbing silence, he began singing. Now, he knew if someone heard him singing, he would lose his reputation forever but there was no one here, now was there? So, his lips kept moving and the tunes kept echoing through the empty cell, relieving him of his boredom. He was beginning to have a rather pleasant time.
And then, suddenly there was a click. He instantly shut himself up and stared at the door as it opened and his brother appeared in front of him. Before Peter could so much as blink at him, Edmund tossed him his sword and he caught it subconsciously. Peter opened his mouth but before any words could escape his throat, Edmund interrupted him with a very amused chuckle. Edmund's lips seemed to have permanently curled into a smile, an annoying one.
"You were singing, weren't you?"
Peter's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "You heard?"
"You have an angel's voice, Pete."
"Shut up."
"I wonder what that Archenlandish Duchess you've been drooling over for months will think of this. Hmm…"
"You wouldn't dare," Peter warned.
Edmund laughed. "Come on now."
Edmund led him out of the cell, the corridors were explicitly dark and Peter wondered why the lanterns weren't lit. Unless someone had blown them off. And considering how the events of the day had unfolded, Peter suspected it was his brother's doing.
Peter followed Edmund like an obedient child as he led him through the strange hallways, all the while wondering how his brother knew where to go in this darkness. Finally, there was light and they moved silently towards it. Then Edmund halted and Peter found himself standing in front of a wooden door. Edmund opened it and they both entered.
"Aesha?" Peter said, as Edmund shut the door behind them.
The room was, as was the whole castle, unfamiliar. It was large and almost as grand as his room back in Cair Paravel. The walls were covered with thick wallpapers; all had beautiful illustrations on them, extending from never ending ranges of mountains to the greenest of grasslands. There was an unbelievably wide bed, covered with silken, rose-colored bed sheets. Peter realized there were too many pillows on it. Apart from the striking bed, there was a small table in one corner, a shelf with books and a polished mirror beside it.
They were in someone's private chambers, most likely Aesha's, judging by the grandeur the room possessed.
In front of him, stood Aesha and when Peter realized who stood beside her, he instantly lunged at the man, grabbing him by his neck and throwing him against the wall. He heard the wallpapers tear and heard the painful gasps coming from the choking soldier but he was intent on killing the man with his bare hands.
"NO!" Aesha and Edmund both shouted at the same time. Edmund pulled him back while he struggled and Aesha fell beside the soldier, his hands covering his bruised neck. Edmund shoved him back hard and growled,
"What were you thinking?"
Peter gazed at the Princess and at his brother who was still glaring at him furiously. "He was going to behead you!" Peter growled back, trying to wither away the memory and feeling of terror it brought with it.
"No, he wasn't. Now, we don't have a minute to waste. Since you've already given him a bruised neck, there won't be a need punch him. Aesha, do you want Owain to do it or—"
"Edmund?"
"Hmm?"
"What exactly is going on?" Peter asked rather calmly, despite the immense irritation building up in him.
"I'll explain later, we need to—"
"No! You're going to tell me everything right now or I swear to Aslan—" Peter had taken a step forward, making Owain—he assumed that was his name—flinch, Aesha shift closer to Owain and Edmund hold him where he was with a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Alright…just, okay, I'll tell you. You see, Owain was never going to kill me. He's a friend." Edmund paused when Peter shifted his gaze to the shook soldier. "Aesha and he are in love." Peter blearily blinked in confusion. Hadn't the red haired princess confessed her love for his brother only a few hours ago?
"She agreed to—um, occasionally help me if I guaranteed them refuge in Narnia, should they choose to run away."
Peter blinked again, his thoughts starting to sort themselves. He was beginning to understand. A little. But wait.
"So—she—is a spy of yours? The King's daughter? The Princess? She's your spy? Edmund, you sly—"
"No time for flattery. We have to move. Aesha, me or Owain? Quick."
"I'm not going to hit her!" Owain declared, plainly leaving Edmund to do what he refused to do. Aesha left Owain as she stood up and gave his brother a nod. Edmund swallowed a lump and shot her a look that clearly said sorry. Then before Peter could take another breath, Edmund had punched her hard across the face; a trickle of blood now appeared through her nose. She sniffed and carelessly wiped away the blood. Nodding, she left the room, again before Peter could take another breath.
Peter could hear her distant cries, "Oh father, he's run away! He's run away!"
Startled, he looked at his brother again who had half flung himself out of the window. He turned to Owain; the soldier had gone lax, evidently pretending to have fainted.
"Come one, you dolt," Edmund said, making Peter look at him once more. Sparing him another quick nod, Edmund slipped down the balcony and landed soundlessly on the lower floor. Peter followed, though his landing was far noisier and less balanced. Peter still didn't understand half of what was going on but he trusted his brother enough to follow him blindly.
They were in the open now; stars gazing down at them, the moonlight making Edmund's skin appear paler. He followed his brother as they crossed the roof. They reached the end and looking down, Peter felt dizzy and the world seemed to start swirling around him. They were too high above; there were rocks on this side of the castle. There was no way—
Edmund tossed something at him and out of instinct, he caught it. Not too quickly, he realized that it was rope, a large bundle of it. He hadn't seen Edmund carry it. Where—
"Tie it around your waist and quick. They'll start searching here as soon as they're finished checking the dungeons."
Peter almost laughed. "You—you're not planning to climb down, are you? Because that would be too stupid and reckless, even for us."
"Just do as you're told, Peter."
Now Peter did laugh. "You didn't just—"
"Fine, I'll go first," Edmund said, snatching back the rope from Peter's loose hands.
Edmund quickly circled the rope around him and then finished with a tight knot, the pressure must have been crushing his stomach but he didn't show it. He tossed the remaining rope at Peter and coming back to his senses, he tied it around his waist and then the weird pole in the corner of the roof.
The height was already threatening to nauseate him and seeing his brother climb down made him thoroughly sick. One slip, one fault was all it would take. Just one slip and you're down there. Here and then there.
"Peter! Come on! I can hear footsteps," Edmund hissed, already halfway down, his voice now an echo.
He gulped and tossed himself over the ledge. He gently placed his foot in a cavity and lowered himself down with extreme care. His feet found protrusions and gaps to step in quite easily and he was surprised to realize his limbs had started working in rhythm now. Smiling, he quickened his pace.
Just don't look down.
And just as you might have predicted, he looked down. Oh sweet Aslan. Edmund was almost to the ground, occasionally stopping to check on his brother who was sweating and felt as if the ground was inching away from him. Peter took deep breaths, one by one, calmed his heart and lowered himself further down. If Edmund can do this, so can I.
He couldn't.
One slip was all it took indeed.
The gap he had chosen was shallower than anticipated and his feet merely slipped off, and he was thrown down in seconds.
Then he was falling. Only falling. He vaguely heard his brother desperately shout his name but all he could feel was the cold wind cutting through his skin and the terrible sensation of falling, his insides were churning. Gravity was tugging at his stomach and his body could do nothing to act against the force.
He had the same feeling he had experienced many times during his reign as the High King. The first time he had felt it was seven years ago, only a year into their reign. A boy of only fifteen then, fear was common to his mind. It had gripped his heart tightly when the Assassin advanced on him with the gleaming knife, sneering. And fear was what he felt now.
Letting the familiar emotion take hold once more, he closed his eyes and waited for his body to hit the ground.
There was pain. But not the kind you would expect to feel after falling from such a height. He heard nothing crunch, nothing snap. The pain, as he realized, was concentrated in his stomach. He was being squished by something, his organs were being crushed.
He realized he was swaying lightly, moving, hanging loosely mere feet above the stone-hard ground. The rope was taut above him and he could see Edmund half jumping, half climbing down, his speed was almost too fast for Peter to even comprehend.
"Just hold on. You're alright. I'm coming. I'm coming," his brother was saying.
But all he could do was close his eyes and sleep.
~o~
Peter was hazed, very hazed. His mind couldn't seem to focus, there were a million thoughts, all jumbled. But the dizziness were the least of his worries, he was going to-
He jerked upright and then the next thing he was aware of was that he was throwing up. Someone was rubbing his back, drawing soothing circles. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve when he was sure his stomach was empty now. The nausea still remained though and the sickening, crushing pain in his abdomen.
Where was he?
"Better now?"
Peter turned around and blinked tiredly.
"Ed?"
"Come on, we don't have much time."
He grabbed him by his arm and abruptly hauled him to his feet, making Peter scramble. Edmund steadied him with one hand and with another; he tossed his arm around his shoulders. He leaned on his brother and he led them both through the empty and silent streets of Terebinthia, the moon was their only companion.
Peter was barely able to stand on his feet, his vision was misty and his surroundings would stubbornly not come to a stop. Edmund adjusted his hold on him numerous times as they continued their voyage.
"I feel like I've drunk a whole barrel of Ale."
"Yeah, well, that tends to happen when you're clumsy enough to fall from forty feet."
Peter didn't respond to his brother's comment, mostly because he was too dizzy to do so. They kept moving in silence for about fifteen more minutes.
And when finally, after a long trek through the streets, Peter's mind refocused and he felt fit enough to walk on his own, he let himself stand up straight and they both quickened their pace, hurrying towards—
"Ed, where are we going?"
"To the docks."
"But what about Orieus?"
"I've got that sorted."
"Edmund—"
"Just come on."
"No! Just wait! Stop!" Peter shouted, coming to a halt. Edmund stopped as well and looked at his brother, scowling. In an attempt to catch his breath, Peter let his hands rest on his knees and took deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Then, gathering himself, he said,
"You will explain everything to me, right now!"
"Peter..."
"Edmund," Peter firmly said, looking his brother in the eye, never blinking. And as expected, it worked.
Defeated, Edmund said, "Alright. Well, we were here for this." He pulled out a rather silvery parchment, or the moonlight made it appear that way. Peter stared at it impassively, still confused, still searching for answers.
"What is that?"
"The list of all of Terebinthia's secret military camps in Narnia."
"What—?"
"Why do you think I let myself be captured? Why do you think I waited days to escape when I had a knife hidden in my boot the whole time? Why do you think I had my best spy in the castle? This is what I was here for. Tricked them in their own game."
Peter only gaped. "But our soldiers, they're all—"
"They were all traitors."
"What? How did you—how did you know?"
"I have spies, Peter. Many, many spies. It was all a plan. Only Lomero shouldn't have died and you shouldn't have idiotically come here," Edmund said, eyeing him accusingly.
Peter still had questions but he knew Edmund would not be answering them any time soon. So, he nodded at his brother who turned around just in time to see a dark figure appear through a gully on the left side of the street. He was a rather lean man, taller than even Peter. Under the moon, his dark skin seemed to glow and he smiled to reveal his shining white teeth. He was obviously a Calormene, Peter could tell. Even without the Turban and loose robes.
"Serkan," Edmund said.
And Peter was more confused than ever. Edmund knew him?
"I've been waiting for this. Finally, you show yourself, snake," said the man, his thick Calormene accent almost blurring the words together.
"Ed, who is that?" Peter whispered, shifting closer to his brother who hadn't moved, his eyes completely fixed on the Calormene. Edmund's gaze lowered to the man's waist and Peter's eyes followed his brother's to spot the sword.
"Who is that?" Peter repeated, the uncomfortable silence bothering him. The Calormene must have heard him for he was the one to answer and not his brother.
"You haven't told you brother, snake? You haven't told him what you did to me?" Edmund never moved, only staring. "I was a Tarkan, until your brother decided to destroy my life. Tell me, O Just King, how do you sleep at night, knowing what you know?"
"What are you talking about? Ed, what is he talking about?" Peter asked, his eyes shifting from his brother to the Calormene rapidly.
"What do you plan to do? Kill me? You're not that foolish, Serkan. You cannot hope to win."
"Not against the two of you, no. But you are a man of honor, are you not?" At this, Serkan pulled out his sword, the metal glinting bright enough to make Peter look away for a second. "Fight me like a man. Fight me so I can end your life myself."
Peter looked at his brother. Edmund merely held out his hand and said, "Will you lend me your sword, brother?"
"You're not fighting him!" Peter shouted, the silence making his voice even louder. Serkan was smirking soundly, obviously satisfied by Edmund's plain declaration.
"You trust me, don't you? Give me your sword."
"Ed—"
"Just give it to me, Pete."
Peter unsheathed Rhindon, its familiar touch making him smile a little. Then he handed the blade to his brother, slowly and hesitantly, still unsure if this was the right thing to do. Edmund took the sword from him, smiling in reassurance. There was no turning back now.
"To the death," Serkan said.
"To the death," Edmund repeated, stepping forward.
The words seemed to punch him in the gut. What had he just done? The two men circled and Edmund, as was predicted, made the first move. He aimed directly for his heart but the Tarkan dodged to him too easily. Too easily. The man was a trained soldier. And Edmund was clearly exhausted from the climb down. What had he just done?
Rhindon gleamed in Edmund's hold and the sound of the blade cutting sharply through the air was all that could be heard when his brother slashed his weapon, aiming for the Tarkan's neck. Serkan ducked and Edmund scrambled ahead. With a movement that was as swift as a cheetah's, Serkan was behind Edmund. He kicked his brother's back, forcing him to the earth.
Peter's breath held as Serkan brought down his sword and he breathed again when Edmund rolled out of the sword's path just in time to avoid the metal piercing him straight through his heart. Both men were on their feet, facing each other, in only a moment's time. Rhindon moved in a graceful arc as Edmund swung it at the Calormene. But his sword only caught air, never meeting Serkan's flesh. Neither said a word as they moved in a circle again, eyes fixed on the target.
Edmund made another blow and Serkan subsequently dodged it, rather gracefully. After two more clumsy attacks, Edmund started panting. And Serkan looked as if he could run ten miles. What have I done? But Peter could make no move, he was frozen, too terrified to do move a muscle.
Edmund stepped slightly back and Serkan took the opportunity to attack. He slashed his sword at Edmund who barely managed to lift Rhindon in time to keep the man's sword from cutting through his skin. Edmund forced Serkan back with a jerk. Peter could see the tiny droplets of sweat flashing on Edmund's forehead, could hear his rapid gasps, could see him grow breathless and could feel his own heart beating faster than it ever had.
Edmund made a blow at Serkan's feet. The Tarkan jumped and their swords met once again but this time, Edmund lost his balance. He staggered back and it seemed that Serkan took it as an open invitation to make his offense. He didn't drive his sword straight through his brother, but instead shoved him harshly to the ground.
Edmund fell; his grip on Rhindon was lost.
"No," Peter whispered, still frozen.
Serkan pressed his sword on Edmund's chest, ready to kill him.
"No!" Peter yelled.
"I won, High King. The snake shall die today."
As if his brother had read his thoughts, he said, "Stay back, Pete."
"No, please. You can't. You—" He took a step forward.
"I said, STAY BACK!" Peter froze; his heart almost lurched out of his chest at the loudness of his brother's voice. He ignored his brother's words and steadily moved forward.
"Please don't," Peter begged.
Serkan only sneered at him evilly and Peter froze and watched in horror as his blade started digging through Edmund's flesh, blood pouring out, the smell of copper filling the air. Peter's feet were firmly attached the ground.
And then something twinkled and Peter held his breath as Edmund suddenly thrust upwards and planted a knife in the Tarkan's neck.
The sword instantly fell out of his hands and Serkan gurgled and choked on his own blood. He scrambled on his feet, fell to his knees and then was lying motionlessly on the ground, his eyes still open, the life in them gone.
Without sparing the dead man another glance, Peter ran to his brother who was already on his feet, wincing as his fingers slid over the gash on his chest. Peter would have embraced him and then punched him for doing something so reckless but seeing the blood pour out of his skin, he merely asked,
"Are you alright?"
Edmund nodded, still wincing. Peter picked Rhindon up. "We have to move, Tribus will be waiting." Peter looked at him, bewildered and not for the first time that day.
"The faun?" Peter asked, vaguely remembering the name of the faun who had brought the news of Edmund's capture to him. King Edmund had sent me to the docks to…look into some matters, the faun had said. Was that matter to secure a boat to Narnia? That was likely, seeing that Edmund had proven to be most unpredictable today.
"Yes," Edmund replied. "Come on now. Let's move."
"But you're bleeding," said Peter, the red liquid catching his eyes once more.
"I'm perfectly fine, now if you'll just—" Edmund's knees buckled and he would have fallen to the ground, had Peter not caught him in time.
"You were saying, little brother?" Peter asked with a grin. He let his brother lean on him as both slowly moved through the deserted streets. By the time they reached the docks, Peter was practically carrying his brother, his body almost lax against him. Through the mist Peter could see someone hurrying towards them and he abruptly stopped.
"Your majesty!"
Peter breathed a heavy sigh. "Tribus," he said when the faun reached them. He helped him take Edmund to a rather large boat. They gently lowered him to a cot below deck and Peter immediately took off his shirt, the sight that followed made him gasp.
The cut was intensely deep and wide, blood completely covered his chest and Peter was amazed he had managed to stand on his feet at all.
"Oh Aslan, is he dying?" Tribus asked.
"I…I don't know," replied Peter truthfully. His own words scared him. He extended his hands towards the wound but dared not touch it. Gulping hard, he turned to Tribus. He couldn't let himself panic now. Not now.
"Get me some water, we need to clean the wound and sew it shut."
The faun nodded and left. And Peter was left alone in the room with Edmund lying senseless in front of him, probably dying. And all Peter could do was shed a single tear from his right eye.
~o~
Finally.
Finally, he was done. Finally, the sickening touch of his brother's blood rapidly pouring out was gone. Finally, the wound had been treated.
"Your majesty, you're shaking," Tribus remarked, making himself known again. Peter had forgotten he was there. Peter looked at his hands, his red hands and realized that they were trembling. He was trembling. He took a deep breath and covered his brother's bare chest with the blanket.
In and out. That's it.
"I…I need to wash my hands," Peter said to himself, although he was certain Tribus had heard him. He stepped out of the cabin and headed to the deck. The boat had set sail and even though they were still in the shallower waters, Peter had already started to feel sea sick. That was why he never liked to travel by sea.
He washed his hands, making sure there wasn't a trace of blood left on them and headed to the back to the small cabin Edmund was sleeping in. Tribus hadn't left and had taken a seat in the corner. Peter laughed when he saw that they had forgotten to take Edmund's boots off. He took them off and was astonished to see two silver blades and the parchment they had come here for fall out.
Peter picked up the fallen items and blinked at his resting brother curiously. What all did Edmund keep in his boots? Edmund mumbled something and shifted to his side. A sudden thought dawned on him.
"I feel like I don't even know him," Peter said his thought aloud with a sigh, although he wasn't sure he had meant to. The words were true and he didn't like it. But after today, Peter couldn't see Edmund like his little brother who needed his protection. He didn't like that either.
"Do you need to?" Tribus asked abruptly. Peter turned to him, blinking. His lips gave a faint smile.
"No," said Peter, "no, I don't."
Fin
Hey, lookie! Lookie! There's actually a sequel (or a prequel)! Read 'Black Justice' after this if you'd like to know what happened afterwards and who Serkan was!
Author's note: And here our story draws to an end. I always did picture Edmund as a rather witty and cunning person. His sense of justice balances it all out though. I could see him as Narnia's eyes and ears; having innumerable spies and knowing things he ought not to know, keeping things from his siblings and well, taking it upon itself to solve problems. But in the end, he needs somebody to take care of him as well. It's a good thing Peter's always there :-)
I really hope you liked this story, and if you did, I'd love a review. Pretty please? Why, thank you! More from me to come soon. Stay tuned until then.
Additional note: I almost forgot to mention this but Tribus had told Orieus to take Splendor Hyaline back to Narnia. Edmund, being unpredictable as ever, had commanded him to do so. I didn't include this in the story because I couldn't find the right moment to reveal it to Peter. He does find out later though :-)