Chapter 11: Stitches

Alternate prompt 4: Stitches

No warnings! Except maybe some violence and blood. But it's mostly fluff. Promise!

"Have you read it yet, Peter?"

Peter looked up from his book, smiled, and barked, "Shut up!"

Edmund raised his hands in surrender and then crossed his arms, leaning back against the sofa's head. He glanced around. It was rare the four sovereigns of Narnia had time to just sit and relax. But when they did, they came to this room. It was perfect, in every way. It was exactly the same distance from each of their chambers. It was wider than even Peter's room—and it's almost as big as the Great Hall. The hearth was near the window—it had been closed since it was the month of Heimsavery—Christmas was only days away—and the siblings had no interest in catching a cold. The fire roared, quite literally, and the room was dimly lit in its soothing yellow shine. Mr Tumnus had told them of this magic. Above the hearth, hung four socks. Edmund smiled to see Lucy's had already been filled with presents. A small table in the middle, the softest carpet beneath their feet, four sofas set around the table, three of them occupied.

And the bed was next to the large wardrobe, filled with everything the siblings might need on a day like this: board games, blankets, cushions if they ever run short, nightgowns for the Queens. And since the Kings insisted, their swords also resided there, occupying most of the free space. The Queens weren't pleased.

Edmund turned to his sisters who were giggling on the sofa opposite to his. Susan was braiding her little sister's hair. "It's too tight, Su!" Lucy said when Susan was finished, admiring her work. It's what she said. But Edmund knew she loved being mothered. Susan frowned but undid the braid, preparing to tie it again.

"Maybe put some flowers in there?" Edmund asked, picking up the cut of hot chocolate from the table. He took a sip. And grimaced.

"Burn your tongue?" Lucy asked, staying as still as she could as Susan continued the braid.

"Can't feel it," Edmund said, putting down the cup. Desperate to distract himself from the pain, he turned to his brother—who had his face buried in the book—and asked, "Are you finished yet, Peter? You've been reading for three hours now."

Peter put down his book. "If you ask me that question again, I will throttle you, Edmund." Then he leant back, and brought the book parallel to his face, beginning to silently read again.

Edmund rolled his eyes, frowning. "We're supposed be having a nice time together. I'm bored!" he exclaimed, standing up. He gestured at his brother who showed no signs that he had at all heard him. "Peter's occupied with his book!" He could see Peter roll his eyes even from behind the book. "Susan's occupied with the braid!" he said, pointing accusingly at his older sister. She shrugged. "And Lucy's too busy trying to stay as still as a statue!" He let his hands fall to his side. "What am I supposed to do?"

"How about be quiet and not disturb your big brother?" Peter said, never bothering to look up from the book.

"Whatever," Edmund said, pouting.

"I'm done!" Susan suddenly exclaimed. Edmund blinked.

"Susan, that's—"

"I love it!" Lucy bellowed, jumping up and down the sofa. "Oh, Su, you get to name it!" she said, trying to feel the two braids, extending from her scalp to her shoulders, weaved in a flowery pattern, not leaving a strand of hair loose. It truly was beautiful. Susan blushed, smiling. Edmund frowned once at his brother who still hadn't looked up from his book. Well, it was his loss.

"What do you mean I get to name it? It's not like I invented it," Susan said, blushing even harder. Lucy pulled her up, making her jump with her on the sofa. Susan frowned, unpleased with the unqueenly behaviour.

"But you did! I've never seen one like this. Name it!"

Susan smiled, finally getting Lucy to sit down again. "Oh, but braids don't have names, Lucy."

"This one does!"

"Oh, but I can't think of anything. How about I name it some other time?"

Lucy frowned but conceded with a nod. Then Susan turned to Edmund, eyes shining. "You said you were bored. Fancy a game of chess?"

Edmund's eyes lit up. "Ah, definitely, sister," he said, standing up. He walked to the wardrobe and pulled it open by its wooden handles. Rummaging through the wardrobe, he said, "But do keep in mind, sister, that one can't defeat me easily in this game. Ask Peter. I've never lost to him."

"Once. When he was ten," Peter said from behind the book.

"Oh, is that so? Well, you haven't had the pleasure of playing with me yet, have you now, brother dear? I've never lost to Lucy," Susan said, picking her cup of coffee from the table. She took a sip, and turned to Peter, after giving Lucy a glare to shush her. Because Susan knew she was about to spill the beans. "Peter, drink your tea! It's getting cold!" she scolded.

"I'm almost done. Last twenty pages."

Edmund rolled his eyes again as he walked back to his siblings. He put aside the cups and set the chess board on the table. He pulled out the bag in which they'd kept the pieces. And then tossed them over the board. The gold and silver pieces colliding with the wood made a sweet cracking sound, and Edmund began setting the pieces in their respective places. Susan took the golden ones and Edmund the silver. It was only fitting. After they were done, Edmund rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Gold gets the first move. Go on, Su."

"Yes, so—Lucy! Get up from the floor!" Susan said, eyes wide to see her sister sitting with her legs crossed on the floor, gazing intently at the unfolding game from beside the table.

"Oh, it's alright, Su. The carpet is softer than the sofas," she said, propping her chin on her palms.

"Just play, Su!" Edmund said, desperate for the match to begin. Susan gulped.

"Alright, here," she said, moving her middle pawn two steps ahead, leaving an open diagonal path for the bishop. Edmund squared his shoulders, rubbing his hands together again. He moved his third pawn to the third square—to C3 to be more precise. Susan did next what he'd anticipated. Taking advantage of the way he'd left open for his sister, she moved her bishop to F4, staring at Edmund's knight that was sitting defenceless as the target. He smiled and moved the knight to A6, right in front of the eighth pawn. He smiled, inviting his sister to enter his domain.

"Oh, oh, oh!" Lucy exclaimed. Susan hushed her with another glare.

"Can you two maybe be a little quiet?" Peter asked, still buried in his book. "Seriously, it's the climax. Just a little bit of silence would be great."

Edmund gave a chuckle, his sisters unable to understand it. He cleared his throat. "Your move, Su," he said. And Susan did what neither of the younger two siblings had anticipated. She brought out her Queen, set it in the middle square. "Interesting," Edmund said, receiving a pleased smile from his sister. And as the game unfolded, the tension grew, the silence only broken by Peter's anxious flipping of pages. Susan lost her Queen after an uncalculated move, making Lucy clap her hands. Then Edmund found his King was surrounded by Susan's knights. He only managed to save him by sacrificing his rook. A great loss. But then he realised what his sister was doing. Distracting him. Because with a wide smile, Susan moved her pawn to A8. And replaced it with her Queen.

"No!"

"No!"

Edmund and Peter stared at each other. As their sisters stared at Peter in confusion. "What is it, Peter?" Lucy asked.

But Peter kept his eyes fixed on Edmund, almost swearing murder. "You didn't."

"What? Not pleased with the ending?" Edmund asked, giggling.

"How could you?" Peter asked, slowly leaving his sofa. Edmund was wiser; he hid behind his little sister. "Write the next book now."

"What? No! I'm having a delightful time playing chess with Su! And she's beating me!"

Susan gave a cheeky smile, giving a little bow.

"You're writing it now, Edmund. Come on," Peter said, yanking Edmund up by his collar.

"Hey!"

"Write it!" Peter growled. "She wasn't supposed to die! She's alive, isn't she? Henry is alive."*

"Henry?" their sisters asked.

"It's short for Henrietta," Peter and Edmund both said. "She's alive. I just know it! Her brother is going to save her!"

He saw Lucy whisper something in Susan's ear. Unknown to him, her words were, "I think he's in love with her. Finally."

"But she fell into a frozen river! I doubt it, Pete," Edmund said, struggling against Peter who still had his collar in his grip.

"And working a stupid case! It was just a normal case! She should have just sent James!" Peter released Edmund, running a hand through his hair. Then he turned to his brother who was brushing off dust from his shoulder. "Ah. How about this? We have a duel. And if you lose, you write and finish it tonight."

"No, I'm going to finish my match with Susan. Then I'll think about it."

"Alright," Peter said, forcing his little brother onto the sofa. Edmund fell with a thud.

"Ouch!"

Peter crossed his arms, watching the two like a hawk. "Finish it. Now."

"You can't rush these things, Peter," Edmund said, moving his Queen to F3. Susan's path was clear. And Edmund had just given her an open invitation to take the Queen. And then the King. He drummed his finger on the table, waiting for her to make her move.

"Oh, come on, just kill his Queen already!" Peter said, frustrated.

"And let his bishop take my Knight and surround my unguarded King. Yes, of course, Peter!"

"You're good," Edmund complimented. "We should play more often. Peter's a bottlehead. He's no fun."

Lucy giggled. And Peter smacked the back of Edmund's head. "Ow!"

"That's what you get for making fun of your big brother," Peter said. Then he started tapping his foot. "I'm waiting, you two. Quick." Lucy tugged at his sleeve, urging him to sit down with her. Peter did. He exhaled heavily, resting his head on her shoulder. "She shouldn't have died. She can't die, Lu. She's an amazing detective. And smarter than everyone. And she loves her family. She'd die for them. And her blue eyes are—"

"She has hazel eyes, Peter," Edmund corrected him, knocking off Susan's last remaining rook with his Queen. "Should've killed her when you had the chance, eh?" he asked his sister. Susan frowned.

"She has blue eyes! Blue eyes and mahogany hair."

"Golden hair! Aslan's mane, Peter, did you read the book at all! How can you miss that? I mentioned it in the first chapter!"

Peter sighed, playing with one of Lucy's braids. His poor heart. It had been broken.

"Oh, you love her, don't you, Peter?"

Peter was startled by the word. He looked at Lucy, furrowing his brows. Then his face melted into acceptance, and he let his head drop onto his sister's shoulder. "I think so. Yeah. I do. But she's gone! I'm going to kill Ed for killing her!"

"Then you'll never find out what happened to her," Edmund replied cheekily, knocking Susan's last pawn off the board. "Left with only the King and your two Knights. You should probably just admit defeat."

Susan smiled. "Not so quick, little brother." And she brought her Knight to C4.

"Bad move, Su," Edmund said, knocking off the Knight with his King which was in the very next square.

"Was it though?" Susan asked. And Edmund looked down at the board again.

"Nooooo!" Edmund yelled, hiding his face in his hands. "How could I have missed it? How did I miss your pawn? I thought I had got them all." His head shot up. "You cheated! That's the only explanation! You must have sneaked one of them onto the board when I wasn't looking."

"I didn't cheat, Ed. You underestimated me," she said. "Just like you underestimated the Telmarines and almost got yourself killed."

"You'll never let me forget that, will you? She was a great fighter!"

"Whatever, Ed, you got beat up by a girl."

And then Peter leapt to his feet, instantly by Edmund's side on the sofa. Edmund flinched away, absolutely startled. "Peter! You—"

"Now, let's duel. So, you can lose and finish the bloody story!"

"Su? You aren't going to scold him?" Edmund asked, gesturing towards his brother with both hands.

Susan shrugged. "He didn't even drink his tea. He really loves her, Ed. I suggest you do as he says. For his sake." Lucy giggled, sitting beside Susan on the sofa.

"And besides, it's been so long since we've seen you duel."

"We spar every week, Lu," Edmund said, wrinkling his brows.

"Well, you never invite us!"

"Come on, Ed!" Peter said, hoisting his brother up by his wrist; Edmund staggered as Peter dragged him towards the wardrobe. He only released him to open the wardrobe. He pulled out a gleaming Rhindon. He kept it for himself, and tossed Alvera to Edmund. Edmund smiled to have his sword back in hand. Then he shut the wardrobe, bowed, and looked extremely ready to begin the duel. But Edmund crossed his arms. He looked back at his sisters.

"Looks like he's trying to kill us both," he said. He tossed Alvera up in the air and then caught it by her blade. Susan and Lucy gasped but there was no blood. He turned to Peter. "If you're not going to have us wear armours, then at least exchange the swords. Rhindon won't hurt you and Vera won't hurt me," Edmund said, squeezing his hands around the blade. But it never cut him. Peter frowned, looking down at his sword.

"Are you sure Rhindon won't?"

Edmund shrugged. "One way to find out."

And Peter traced the sharp edge of his sword's blade with his palm. It was a brilliant feeling. He could feel just how sharp it was, ready to cut through even stone, but it never cut his palm. There was never any blood. Or the burning pain. Peter was started for a second. Then he gulped, looking up at his brother again. "How am I only now finding out? I've had it for nearly ten years."

"Maybe it's because you call her 'it'," Edmund replied, tossing Vera to him. Peter caught her, smiling to have two swords in either hand. And then he flung Rhindon at his brother. He deliberately caught it by its hilt, careful of the blade's edges. Then gripped its pommel tightly, curling his fingers, his knuckles turning white. "Let's do this," Edmund said. And then launched himself at his brother, clashing Rhindon with Vera. Peter smiled, backing slightly. Then he thrust forward, making Edmund take a large step back. Edmund smiled back, and then made Peter duck with a lethal blow to the head. He silently wondered if Rhindon still wouldn't have cut him. Peter turned and slashed Vera at Edmund's feet, making him skitter backwards since he lacked enough time. Vera met Rhindon once again as the duel continued. And again. And again. And again. And soon, Susan and Lucy were bored. They settled back onto the sofa, tired of kneeling and twisting in order to get a glimpse of the sparring match. Another ringing sound filled the room when the blades clashed again. Once more. Twice more. Thrice more.

"Enough!" Susan roared, covering her ears with her hands. "There is too much noise. If you want to spar, please head to the training grounds. Spare us!" She sat back with her arms crossed, frowning. It was silent. "That's better. This is how you should be. Obeying." Obeying. But her brothers never listened to her. So—

"Ed? Are you sure you're alright?"

"Fine," Edmund told Peter as he slowly walked to back to his sisters. Susan gasped, as did Lucy.

"Ed, you're bleeding!" they both cried.

"Edmund! You said you were fine!" Peter exclaimed, immediately by Edmund's side to support him. "Oh, Ed," he said, feeling the warm blood seep through his brother's shirt. "You said she wouldn't hurt you." Peter put pressure on Edmund's side, desperate to restrict the blood flow. "You said—"

"I'm fine, Peter. It's just a small gash. She wouldn't hurt me. She's never hurt me," Edmund said, struggling past Peter. But Peter caught up with him again, helping him sit down on the sofa.

"Not the sofa—" Susan said but then held her tongue. Her brother was hurt. She scurried to Edmund's side. Peter had already taken his shirt off, examining the intensity of the wound. Lucy was taking off his boots, her eyes teary.

"It's just a gash. He should be fine. Needs a few stitches though. Su?" Peter asked, looking at her. She swallowed. And kissing her grimacing brother's cheek, she stood up. She fetched the healer's kit from the desk in the corner, next to the hearth. And skittered back, her hands shaking in fear for her brother. She passed the kit to Peter. "You might not want to see this," he told his sisters, rummaging through its contents. His sisters wiped their eyes and turned away. Edmund groaned.

"I hate stitches."

"Bite down on this for me?" Peter said, feeding his brother a rag. Edmund gagged but did as he was told. "This will hurt. But try not to scream. For our sisters."

Edmund nodded. For our sisters.

As Peter sewed the wound shut, making Edmund stiffen, and clench his jaw in attempt to not scream in agony, their sisters stood in the corner, covering their ears, their eyes squeezed shut. Susan pulled her sister close, letting her hide her face in her shoulder and sob. Even after almost ten years of battle and injuries, of bringing back their brothers from the brink of death so many times, they couldn't bear it. The horrible sight of one of them—or both, more likely—in pain. Peter let out a heavy breath when the stitches were final done. "Su, get me some water, will you?" Peter said, shushing his brother, who was now gasping in pain.

Susan nodded at him. And left.

Lucy gasped to see so much blood on the sofa. "Oh, Edmund, even on a day like this…" she said, sitting beside her brother, stroking his hair. Edmund gritted his teeth, blocking the pain. "Peter?"

"It's my fault. Oh, Aslan, I pushed you too hard. I never even noticed when—"

"Shut up. Please, just…shut up…I…"

"Edmund?" Peter asked, shaking his brother.

"I just need to sleep."

"Let's just get you cleaned up first, okay," Peter said, smiling to see Susan return with a bowl of water and some herbs. "Then you can sleep."

Edmund nodded very slightly, letting his head limp back on the sofa. "I hate stitches."

~o~

"Peter. Peter."

Peter rubbed his sore eyes, groaning, feeling his arm buzz, stiff, trapped under his brother's head. "Lu? What is it?" he asked dizzily, still rubbing his eyes. Lucy was sandwiched between Susan and Edmund, smothered into a cuddle by her older sister.

"I can't breathe with her squishing me like that," she said, glowering at Susan. She lowered her voice considerably when saying this, "And she snores." Peter faked a gasp and then chuckled, resting his head on his brother's.

"You'll get used to it."

Lucy rolled her eyes. "How is he?"

"Honestly? Drugged." Lucy giggled. "He'll be fine. It was only a small cut." He frowned. "What is it?"

"What about Henry?"

"Who?" Peter furrowed his brows. "Oh. Right. He can write it when he's not muttering in his sleep," he said, stroking Edmund's hair. "He doesn't look nineteen, does he?"

"No," Lucy agreed, shifting closer to her brother.

"I'm not muttering. I do look nineteen. And the book's in my room."

Peter and Lucy were both startled, flinching away from their brother. "You're awake?" Peter asked his brother. But Edmund showed no signs of consciousness. Peter blinked. "Do you think he was—"

"Muttering in his sleep."

"Nope," Edmund said, turning to his side. "And that was a bad idea." He turned to his back again, hissing in pain. "It's in my room, Peter," he repeated, yawning. "I promise you won't be disappointed."

"Are you sure you'll be—"

"I'm fine, I have Lucy," he said, pulling his sister closer with one arm. Lucy giggled.

"At least open your eyes, Ed."

"Too much work. Now, go, Peter. She's waiting!"

Peter smiled, kissing his brother's hair. "I love you, Ed."

And then he made a mid-night dash to Edmund's room.

~o~

A week later

"Ed. Edmund."

Edmund moaned, slapping the persisting hand away. "Geroff, Peter. I'm exhausted. We just got back from the West."

"Please! It's important."

Edmund sighed and sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What is it? Is Lucy's fever up again? We should go check on her. Susan needs to rest, too. And—"

"No, no! Lucy's fine. I just wanted to ask you a question."

"A question?"

"Yes. If James is dead, does that mean she'll have to find a new partner? Or will the sentiment not allow her to? I mean, she can't just replace him, can she? Her brother is a promising candidate but—"

And Edmund whacked his brother with a pillow.

Fin

*Remember Peter wanting to read Edmund's detective books in Follow the Light? Well, here's Peter reading Edmund's detective books!

Author's note: Well, what did you think? Please review!

With love,

~Pacifia

Chapter 12: Infection

Prompt: Infection

Warning: This is very violent. And bloody. And a little bit gruesome. I'm back to serious angst. And you know how those can be.

This is dedicated to Cherry2506! She wanted me to write this, with some major, major Peter whump. And so here it is! Hope you enjoy it! And Peter whump is coming up in the next chapter. Promise!

Edmund's armour felt heavier than ever today. It seemed to be almost burning his skin, restricting his breathing, the straps crushing him. Oh, he had dreaded this for three days and three nights, lying awake, thinking about what he would say. He took off his helmet and put it down on the ground. He handed Orieus his sword, smiling grimly at him. Walking past the General, he cracked his knuckles, releasing a long breath, swallowing a rapidly forming lump in his throat. But seeing his siblings waiting for him, solemn smiles on his sisters' faces, he felt himself relax. He dared not look at his brother. Not yet. He went to Lucy first. And before he even reached her, she launched herself at him, clinging to him. Edmund gathered her small figure in his arms. She was almost eleven, and yet she was so light. When she refused to let him go, Edmund kissed her cheek. And pulled away.

"You'll be strong, won't you? Valiant."

"Do you have to go?" she asked, sniffing, more tears glistening in her eyes. Edmund wiped her eyes, shushing her.

"I do. I promise I'll come back to you. Dead or alive, that is," he said, meaning it as a joke. But seeing how it made Lucy sob and tremble, he thought maybe not. "Lu? Oh, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I promise I'll come back. Alive." Lucy threw herself at him again, burying her face into his chest, tickling his neck with her silken hair. "Will you bake me cookies when I return?" he asked her, pleased to finally hear her pure and joyous laughter.

"Yes, of course, I will, Ed."

"Well, stop crying then," Edmund said, gently pushing her away from himself. "You have work to do, Lu. Go on. Susan and Peter will be with you in a minute." Lucy gave him a small smile and then scurried back to the castle. Edmund exhaled, now beginning to walk to his older sister.

"Susan, I—"

But she gave him no chance to say anything more. She was squeezing the life out of him! "Su, hey, hey! I can't breathe, you know."

"Shut up," she said, laughing. She kissed the top of his head, and Edmund knew she was giving him her blessing. "May Aslan bring you home."

Edmund gave her one last hug. "He will."

And then she was gone, too. Edmund glanced at his brother. Mighty and Magnificent, even today, even now. Hands behind his back, he stood straight, staring at the horizon, at the Sun rising above the Eastern Sea, seeing the orange melt into the blue. Edmund's gut clenched, seeing how shallow the depression on the sand was. And just how light his brother was. Oh, Aslan, what had happened to his brother? Peter kicked a pebble into the ocean. It jumped over the waves once, twice, and then sank, submerged completely. Peter never looked at him. With steps that were miserably small and hesitant, Edmund slowly made his way to his brother. He never moved a muscle, never turned his eyes to him, never showed any kind of emotion. He just stared. And as the Sun rose above the water, forming a complete circle, hinting them with a pink, enveloping the land with loving warmth, Edmund coughed. A petty excuse to avoid being the first one to say something. A cough! Edmund shook his head, feeling disappointed with himself.

"How old are you, Edmund?"

Edmund blinked, relieved to hear his brother's voice, but startled by the question. Peter's face was still blank, and as white as a sheet. But his eyes—his eyes were now watery, little diamonds shining pink in the sunlight. And Edmund's heart twisted in his chest. He cleared his throat, trying to bring back his voice. "I…I'm twelve, Peter. But you know that."

"And how old was I when we first came to Narnia?"

"Peter—"

"Answer me!" Peter thundered, startling Edmund. Edmund took a step forward, despite the warnings the glint in Peter's eyes gave him.

"Thirteen. Almost fourteen." Oh, why did he have to add that?

Edmund had anticipated that Peter would turn, the twitch in his neck muscles, the low exhale, the blink. But Edmund hadn't expected that expression, the absolutely terrifying eyes, almost menacing. Because they were weeping. And they looked scared. "Peter?" he asked, extending his hand towards him. But Peter flinched away from his touch as if he was afraid Edmund would break him. Peter swallowed, turning away again.

"Just go."

"Peter—"

"I will pray for you, Ed. Now leave."

"No."

Peter turned to him again, quirking his eyebrows. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm not leaving you like this. First, tell me you'll be alright. Tell me you won't drive yourself mad with worry and guilt. Because it's not your fault, Peter. We almost lost you! And we can't risk it again. Please. Please, you have to understand. And I have to know you understand. Tell me you understand."

And the almost ominous laugh Peter gave made Edmund skin crawl. "You want me to tell you I understand why my twelve-year-old brother has to go fight a war while I sit at home, sipping tea from a gold cup? You want to me tell you I understand why I have to spend days in uncertainty, wait for the news to come you died? Because you will die, Edmund. You will. You will die!" Peter roared, suddenly shoving him back.

Peter pushed him again. Edmund staggered back, determined not to fall in front of his brother. He would not be weak. But his sobs probably contradicted his resolution. Peter's head-shake was tacit, stating just how disappointed he was. In himself and his brother. Peter jabbed an accusing finger at Edmund's chest. And Edmund winced to see his chain mail cut Peter's finger, painting the silver in a bloody red.

"You. Will. Die." He said the words with so much conviction, Edmund almost believed him. "You will die, Ed. Because I won't be there to protect you."

"Then let it be so," Edmund said, standing up to his brother, even though he barely reached his neck. "I will gladly die, Peter." Peter turned away from his brother, his left eye was twitching in the tears. "How many times have you risked your life for us? For Narnia? How can you expect me to turn my back now that she needs us the most? I vowed my allegiance to you the day I disobeyed you at Beruna. And I vowed my fealty to you on the day of our coronation. I vowed to protect you with my life the day we fought our first battle. I will not break my vows, Peter. I don't care if it results in my death. We're Knights. Not just Kings. And if death is what awaits me, I will gladly accept it. You should accept it, too."

And then Edmund stomped away, leaving his brother to form a miserable heap on the sand and weep.

The first half of the journey went by without incident, and one could even say merrily. The atmosphere was grim, of course. Tension about the battle that awaited them hovered over. Graveness about the loss that was imminent. But the soldiers were still in high spirits, determined to stay like that as long as they could. For all of them. They crossed the Fords of Beruna and made a small camp at the Stone Table to rest. And then when the Sun rose in the mid-sky, gazing down at them, they set off westward once more. They crossed the Shuddering Wood, staying at the bank of River Rush for mere minutes to wash up and refresh themselves. And then were back to trekking to the Western Woods where the remnants of the Witch's army had been sighted. Edmund suppressed a shiver. Cold winds were blowing from the West to East, fighting against them as they went. It was the month of Kyrorush, Peter's sixteenth birthday was coming up and—

Edmund wiped his cheeks, focusing on the gallop of his horse. He shouldn't have left things with him like that. It was probably the last time he'd see his brother. And yet, he'd left on such bad terms, had left him crying in the middle of the beach. Edmund's heart throbbed just recalling the memory of his brother weeping. Weeping because of Edmund. He'd wanted to turn back, to console him, assure him, soothe him. But he was too mighty high for that! Bloody hell, it hurt. He wondered how long he'd stayed there, how long till Susan and Lucy had found him. Edmund closed his eyes to whisper a quiet prayer to the Lion. And then beg his brother for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry, Peter. But I promise I won't let you down. I'm so sorry," Edmund said, wiping another sliding tear away.

I forgive you, Edmund heard a faint mutter say. He shook his head. He was dizzy, and the cold was playing tricks on their mind. But it sounded so much like Peter. Perhaps it was the wind? That was the most logical explanation.

"The High King will forgive you in time, sire. If there is anything to forgive at all."

Edmund blinked, twisting to see Orieus galloping beside him. He swallowed. "I doubt it, Orieus. This he will not forgive. I could see it in his eyes. I could see he was seething. I broke him. I broke him."

"You weren't given a choice, King Edmund," said Orieus, extending a glinting blade towards him. Edmund gave the widest smile to see Vera. He took her, swung her once in his hand, and then sheathed her with a sharp, echoing chink. Then Orieus smiled. "We're almost there, King Edmund. You need to strategize. How do you wish to approach them? I've already sent the Griffins to scout the area." Edmund gulped, unsure what to do. Peter had always been the leader. The High King. How was Edmund to take over now?

He smirked. He wasn't Peter, no. He was Edmund. The High King's witty little brother. Maybe he could take advantage of that. "How about we split up?"

"Sire, I hardly think that is a wise decision—"

"No, listen, Orieus. Our numbers are much greater. As you said, the Dryads had spotted about sixty of them. And most of them are wolves and hags. The least threatening. Even if we split, we'd have seventy soldiers in each group, and I'm not counting the Griffins. You said you'd sent them to scout the area. Can you have one of the eagles carry a message?" Orieus nodded, looking impressed. "Tell them to attack at their sight. They'll have the advantage of flight. And then when they're weakened, we take them from both sides. They won't stand a chance." Edmund gave a satisfied smirk. Orieus gave another nod and then brought the party to a halt. And was then hollering orders, telling them what Edmund had told him only seconds ago.

Edmund breathed in the sweet scent of the Hyacinths, the Lilies. The rich, cutting smell of wet grass. And Edmund always found the smell of wet sand brilliant. His mood was finally beginning to lighten. Maybe he would survive this. Maybe he could go home, emerge back victorious, make Peter and his sisters proud. Just maybe—

"Majesty!"

Edmund didn't know what happened. He was knocked off his horse, wind rushing out of his lungs, as his chest was being crushed under the weight of—

He opened his eyes. Oh, Aslan, no.

They were under attack.

And they would surely lose.

Because Edmund had never seen so many Ogres at once.

Edmund was desperately trying to suck in air as the Ogre that had pinned him to the ground laughed in his face, revealing the decaying yellow teeth, and the horrible smelling saliva. He swung his hideous yet deadly warclub above his head, ready to strike him, squash him like an insect. Edmund squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the blow, for the sharp pikes to pierce him to the bone. This was not how he'd imagined his death. Maybe a wolf ripping his heart out, a hag's curse, a bat's claws scratching the life out him. But this would be brutal. Too painful. He hadn't expected to be the meal of an ogre. And then a horrible realisation dawned on him. Ogres didn't eat Carrion. They'd eat him alive. Cut him into tiny pieces and swallow his meat in front of him. Oh, Aslan. Edmund's head was suddenly swirling. Such grotesque reality was not made for the mind of a twelve-year-old. Vomit had risen almost to his throat when an awful screech came.

Edmund praised the Lion when the weight on his chest was gone and he could breathe again. He fluttered his eyes open. First, he saw the pink sky, then the colour dissolved into the whitest light of the sun, and then a shadow enveloped him. Muscles tense and expression grave, Orieus extended his hand towards him. Edmund took it, struggling to gain his feet. "You must go, King Edmund. Now." Edmund gazed around. He saw only death and blood. Heard only the screams of his dying soldiers and the menacing laughs of the Ogres. The monsters were dragging some of them out of the clearing, into the woods. To feed on them. Edmund rested his hand on Orieus' sturdy arm for support, feeling nauseated again. Aslan, please. Then he looked up at his General with determined eyes.

"I won't leave, Orieus. Don't ask me to. I will fight. And die before they can take me alive. Are you with me?"

Orieus swung his sword, staring in anticipation at the horde of Ogres running towards them. Then his lips twitched to give a smile. And he said what he'd said to them so many times before, in battle, in wars, and even in training sometimes, "To the death."

And they charged.

Edmund was to fight the smallest Ogre first. It was easy to dispatch him. Just a slash of Vera to his excessively fat and dangling stomach was enough to spill his guts on the ground and make him scream and crash down. And then another larger one leapt at him. Edmund, taking the advantage of his small size, ducked to avoid his swinging clubs and let the brute stumble forward. Then with a slash to the calf, Edmund kicked the Ogres leg, his leg almost went through the wound, so large was the size of the monster. Bellowing in pain, the Ogre fell, and Edmund took the opportunity to cut the brute's head off. Next, he turned, seeing another small Ogre run towards him. Another slash and he'd decapitated him. Such fury had filled him. So much despise for the monsters who'd eat his soldiers, his friends alive. Edmund let the anger fuel him. He charged again, slashing and cutting the Ogres one after the other, letting them fall in a heap.

He was small and scrawny and light. But that meant agility and speed. Another one came after him, attacking from behind. He turned and thrust Vera into the Ogre's eye. He struggled to get the sword out of his eye, screaming in sheer agony all the while. Edmund gulped; he had been rendered weaponless now. He glanced around for another option. For something to finish to Ogre off with.

"King Edmund!" Orieus cried from behind him. Edmund turned about. The Centaur looked terrified, his eyes fixed on something. Edmund's eyes followed his gaze. A warclub—smaller than most, but still capable of cutting him in half—was flying through the air.

It's target?

Edmund.

Edmund stiffened, curling his hands into fists, shutting his eyes, waiting. He could hear it cut the air as it flew.

Three.

There were more shouts from his left, urging him to move out of the way. But he was frozen.

Two.

The world was silent now. His mind numb. He would not cry.

One.

And Edmund allowed it to strike him. To death claim him. He waited for it. But the blow never came. Confused, he fluttered his eyes open.

And felt himself die.

Because there he was, the one who'd saved him, taken the blow for him, lying on the bloody ground, gasping, his flesh pierced by the four large pikes, digging into him, mouth bloody, guts splattered on the ground, the white of his ribs flashing through the immense blood.

Time froze. And Edmund's world spiralled down.

No.

No!

He wasn't supposed to be here!

"PETER!"

To be continued...

Author's note: It's Narnia's 70th anniversary! On October 16th, 1950, C.S. Lewis published The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, the first book in the Narnia novel series. And the world is still grateful to him for this masterpiece. I bow to C.S. Lewis on this day. Thanks, and ever thanks!

And I would like to thank all the beautiful readers and authors on this site who've made this community something everyone should yearn to be a part of. Thank you for your support!

A very happy Narnia Day to all the Narnians!

Response to P: Oh, that's awesome to hear! I hope she didn't make you wait too long for the next book. :-)

With love,

~Pacifia

Chapter 13: Infection: Part II

Prompt I: Infection

Prompt II: Stitches (because there's a lot of stitches)

Warning: Very bloody and gory. And a little disgusting at one place. But nothing too much. Ummm. Okay, it's a little too much. Maybe have a soft toy handy? You might need to clutch to it and sob while reading the second section.

Colours, dark and light, figures of enemies and friends, weapons, noble and lethal, all swirled past him. Everything was moving. The air was, too. With screeches and yells. Terrified yelps. Sorrowful cries. A woe-filled voice of his General that was asking him to move. To leave. Leave. Edmund's mind ignored it all. Nothing mattered, nothing made sense, the world was just a dark, faded place now. Only one thing, one gasping figure, his saviour's struggling yelps mattered. Because that, that was his brother, his sixteen-year-old brother who was dying in a pool of blood. Edmund fell to his knees with a thud, hands shaking so terribly he could barely lift them. More yells for him to move. To leave. Something tugging at his sleeve. But he didn't care. He only stroked Peter's cheek. The narrow slits of Peter's eyes opened wide and he glanced at him, his blue irises now almost like a faint black, so weary and full of pain.

"Ed…Ed…Edmund, move…"

Edmund let out some shuddering breaths, almost unable to believe that his brother could still speak. He stroked his cheek again, brushing back his damp hair, tousled golden now marked with droplets of blood. He wiped the blood off, caressing his hair again, desperate to provide some comfort to his brother. But Peter weakly spoke again, slurring the words, stuttering.

"M…mo…move!"

"King Edmund, please!" came the squeakiest voice from behind him. Another tug. He tried to twist to look but he was mercilessly tackled to the ground, definitely crushed his ribs and punctured his lungs. He gasped, trying to breathe, and opened his heavy eyes. A very blurry and shaking figure was sprawled over him, and he suddenly realised who it was. He gagged, the horrible smell of blood reaching him. The place reeked of death. How much longer could he bear it? His eyes turned to the Centaur again. He was gasping, holding his abdomen. No.

"Or…Orieus?"

"You…m…must get…King Peter to…safety, Edmund. Go. Take the horse. Now go!"

And he rolled off him. Edmund was instantly on his feet, running to his General. "No! No…no…Oh, Orieus…Why?"

Orieus moaned, clutching to his stomach as more blood poured out the stab wound, a spear protruding out of him. A spear? "They…they're here. The…the fell. Str..stronger than w…we thought. Go!"

"King Edmund!" Edmund, trembling uncontrollably, looked down again. It was a squirrel. Edmund blinked. "You must come, King Edmund. Come! Come with me!"

Edmund gulped and gazed down once at his General, his friend, his mentor. He nodded, coughing blood. And Edmund knew what he had to do. Orieus went limp then, his hand uncurling. Edmund took Vera from him, sobbing. And he sprinted after the squirrel, dodging and ducking under the clubs, slashing Vera at the laughing Ogres. He managed to kill two by the time they reached the edge of the woods. Miraculously unharmed. Edmund gasped. "Peter!" he screamed, rushing to his brother. He glared at the Centaur who was shoving him up a horse's back, the saddle digging into his wounds. "What are you doing?"

The Centaur when satisfied with Peter's curled up position on the saddle, looked at Edmund. "Take him, my King. Keep him safe."

"But—"

"Come! Come!" the squirrel was squeaking. Edmund glanced at him, jumping up and down on the horse's neck. "Come quickly!"

Edmund gulped. And he tossed himself over the saddle, carefully gathering Peter in his arms, keeping him secure with one hand. And with the other, he snapped the reins once. And the horse was racing into the woods. Edmund glanced back and saw the screaming Narnians run for their lives, the Ogres still laughing. Some were already feeding—

And that was the first time Edmund, very justifiably, emptied the contents of his stomach on the ground.

"Peter? Pete?" Edmund said, tapping his brother's cheek. Peter blearily opened his eyes. And screamed a horrifying, pain-filled scream. Edmund covered his mouth with his hand, shushing him with a finger on his lips. "You can't—you can't scream, okay? I know it hurts. It hurts very badly, but please you can't. Some of them might still be here."

Peter barely nodded through his shivers, but Edmund uncovered his mouth. Peter pursed his lips, curling his hand into Edmund's tunic, making his knuckles turn white. Then he was gasping rapidly, but he never screamed. "E…Eddie…Ed!" he yelled, convulsing, clutching even more tightly to his brother's tunic.

"I know. But hush. It's okay. It'll be okay. The pikes missed the organs, Peter. Aslan was with us. I—I need to sew the wounds, Pete."

Peter's expression turned into a fearful one. He was sobbing like a scared child. "P…please…Ed…"

Edmund stroked his hair, kissing his forehead. "Shh…just hush. You'll be fine. Promise. Have you got them, Nightglow?" Edmund asked, turning to see the squirrel rummaging through contents of the bag hanging from the saddle.

"Edmund!" Peter screamed again, gasping more desperately. Edmund gathered his brother in his arms, cradling him.

"It'll be okay. It will. Just focus on my voice, Peter. Can you do that?" Peter gave the vaguest nod. "That's good." Edmund rocked his brother, holding him more securely against his chest, trying his hardest to ignore the ribs flashing through the blood. "It's not even that bad, Peter," Edmund lied, both to his brother and himself.

"It's not even that bad. Just a gash," he whispered into his hair, still rocking him. Peter had gone quiet now, curling further into Edmund's chest.

"Just focus on my voice and it won't hurt anymore. Just listen to my voice. Think about Cair, okay? About Susan and Lucy. Can you imagine Susan braiding Lu's hair?" Peter nodded again, swallowing the blood that had risen in his throat. "That's it then. Think about our sisters. Remember when Lucy put a frog in Susan's bed?" Edmund asked, cradling him still.

"Y…y's…"

"And then Susan took revenge adding chilli to her tea."

Edmund wanted to burst into laughs to see his brother smile. "That's it. That's it, Peter. Think about our sisters." Edmund kissed his brother's hair. And then patted his cheek when his eyes began drooping. "No, no, Peter. You can't sleep. Can't sleep, okay?"

Peter nodded, burying his face into Edmund's chest.

"That's good." Edmund turned. "Nightglow! Hurry, he's losing blood!" Edmund stroked his brother's hair again. "Not you, no. Of course not, Peter. You're fine. Not even hurt. You're just fine." He kissed his cheek, gathering him, holding him even closer to himself.

"N't…n't hu't?"

"No, no, you're not. You're just fine, brother. Nightglow?"

"I have it!" the squirrel squeaked, skittering towards the brothers, holding a bag twice his size above his head. He put it down when he reached Edmund.

"Thank you, cousin," Edmund said, smiling grimly at the squirrel. "Now go find water."

And Nightglow hopped away.*

Edmund turned back to his brother. He settled him down on the bloodied blanket. Peter groaned, pursing his lips again in order not to scream. Edmund kissed his forehead. "You have great endurance, Peter. Just hold on and you'll be fine."

Edmund then cut Peter's tunic with the small knife, and then stripped it off. The white shirt wasn't white. But red from every inch. Edmund gulped, pushing aside the nausea. He stripped off his shirt as well, now revealing just how bad the wound was. Oh, Aslan. Peter's left side was practically just bone, missing chunks of meat. He could see his ribs. Peter gasped, jerking up suddenly. Edmund held him down, shushing him. He rested his forehead against his brother's.

"Look at me. Look at me, Peter." Peter did, gazing deeply into his eyes. "You. Are. Fine."

The words seemed to have some effect on his brother for he settled down, relaxing a bit, though he was still gasping. Then Edmund rummaged through the bag. He picked a rag and fed it to his brother. "Bite down on it." Peter did, gagging at the medicinal smell. "Try grinding your teeth. Yes, that's it. Just keep doing that. Focus on that."

As he said this, Edmund pulled out a long needle from the bag, wincing to see the rough thread. Should he do this? He shook his head. "Nightglow! Water, have you found it?"

"Yes! Yes! Here, King Edmund!" Nightglow said, pulling out a large bottle of water from the bag. He almost crumbled under its weight but managed to bring it to him.

Edmund rubbed the squirrel's tiny head, showing appreciation. "Thank you very much, cousin. Do one more thing for me. Find us shelter. It should be hidden, deep into the woods. Maybe between two trees?"

"Yes, yes, of course, King Edmund!"

And he hopped off again.

"Ed?"

Edmund blinked. "No, Peter, you can't spit it out. Bite down on it," Edmund said, picking the now wet and bloody rag from the ground.

"It…It hu'ts…" Peter slurred out, eyes drooping. He'd lost too much blood.

Edmund patted his cheek. When he didn't wake, he slapped him. "Peter!"

Peter's eyes shot open. Vision blear and hazed.

"Bite," Edmund commanded, shoving the rag into his mouth again. "That's it."

Peter stiffened when Edmund poured the water over the wounds, cleaning them with another rag.

"Focus on the clouds, they're so floaty, aren't they? So white. So free. So high above us. Only the wind controls them, right? They follow only the wind. They can give us shade. Give us rain. Or sometimes storms. Magical, is you ask me. Don't you think so, too, Peter?"

Edmund continued rambling, pinching Peter's skin in order to get the needle through. Peter would stiffen but then relax at Edmund's words. "And they're so pretty. Like cotton candy. Do you remember cotton candy, Peter? Pink and cloudy. It was so delicious. Maybe we should have the cooks at Cair make cotton candy. Lucy would love it."

Peter convulsed, biting hard on the rag, when the needle pierced his skin again, going deeper, almost to the ribs now. He had to do this. When the needle was out, leaving the thread behind, Edmund smiled at his brother like he was a child who'd just braced himself through something only mildly painful. "There you go, Pete. That wasn't so hard, was it? Now, think about trees. Focus on my voice. Trees. Hmmm. What can one say about trees, Peter? In the other place, the trees weren't alive. But in Narnia—in Narnia, Peter—"

Peter jerked up again when the needle cut deep into his skin. Edmund stroked his forehead, holding him down by his head. His bloody fingers slid over Peter's face as he continued to soothe him. Peter's breathing was now ragged, in the form of rapid gasps. Edmund momentarily shut his eyes, trying to bring back some poise. Then he gulped, smiling to see the needle once again slide out of the flesh, leaving the thread to sew together the meat. "There you go, Peter. See? It wasn't that hard after all. Done. And done."

And it really was done, the needle swept out of the last of the cuts. Edmund leaned down to the cut the thread with his teeth. Peter was barely keeping his eyes open, now limp on the ground, exhausted from the pain. Edmund tapped his cheek once to ensure he wouldn't drift off and then picked the bottle again.

"Hush. Hush, now," Edmund said, taking the rag out of Peter's mouth. "You won't scream, will you? The hard part's done. This will hurt just a bit."

Slowly and deliberately, he poured the water on the stitched wounds, cleaning off the blood from the sides. Have you seen a cloth that is far too small to be stitched but has been sewed anyway? The sides around the stitches are stretched, almost bundled up. That was what Peter's skin looked like. Only in a much more grotesque and bloody way. Edmund fought the urge to vomit at the sight. He went on to clean the wounds, hoping it would look better when washed. Peter, amazingly, never uttered a word through it all. Never squeaked. Never yelped. He endured it silently. As if he didn't feel anything now. Edmund stroked his cheek, forehead wrinkling.

"Peter? Peter, blink if you can hear me."

Peter blinked. Edmund swallowed. It hit him. He'd gone numb. After so much pain, he couldn't feel more of it. "Peter, can you say something? Say Aslan."

Peter blinked. He tilted his head towards him, eyeing him. Then he said with so much clarity that for a second Edmund forgot he was dying, "Aslan."

Tears filled his eyes but he blinked them away. "Thank you. Thank you, Peter. Let's get you up."

Now, this was going to be difficult to do. Edmund had barely managed to get him off the horse without dropping him. And he had dropped him when they'd gotten off. Carrying his brother was an entirely different matter. Even now, even so thin and weak, Peter weighed at least twenty pounds more than him**. And he couldn't drag him with that wound. It would ruin the stitches. Oh, Aslan help him. He gulped, sliding his right arm under Peter's bare shoulders and the left under his knees. And with all his might, he tried getting up. Expectedly, he couldn't lift him to an inch, only make Peter groan in pain. Edmund let Peter slump down; he began gasping again. Edmund brushed back his hair, attempting to soothe him, ease his pain. Slowly, Peter was quiet again, staring at the sky as if in a trance. Edmund blinked back more tears.

"I'll be back in a second, Peter. Keep your eyes open. Stay awake."

He began getting up but Peter's weak hand grabbed his sleeve, only fingers holding the fabric, his wrist hadn't even left the ground. "Don't go. Please don't go. It's cold."

Cold. It was cold. Edmund cursed himself. "I'll be right back. Promise." He smiled at his brother, slowly bringing down Peter's hand. He pressed his hand on his brother's, reassuring him. "I'm just going to fetch you a blanket, Peter. Okay?"

Peter nodded, giving him a solemn smile. Edmund kissed his forehead. And then with all the will he had, he stood up. He found another blanket in the horse's saddle. Sending a grateful prayer to the Lion, Edmund scurried back to his brother. He managed to get the ruined blanket slide from beneath him, letting the warm glass shield him from the cold. Then he spread the blanket over him. But Peter was still shivering. And an open wound could get infected. Edmund turned to the healer's kit. He found some herbs; they were antiseptics. Edmund made a paste with them, black and green, and frankly, not very pretty-looking. He applied it onto Peter's side, making him groan and tense in the burning sensation. Edmund hushed him with more soothing words.

He took off his chain-mail, feeling extremely light all of a sudden. Then he stripped off his tunic and then his shirt. Suppressing a shudder in the cold, he cut his shirt into long, wide strips with the knife. He wrapped Peter's torso with them, having to turn him to his side, hence add to the pain. Edmund hated to see Peter grit his teeth in order to avoid screaming. Then he rolled him to his back, satisfied to see his securely wrapped in the bandages. He slid down his tunic to Peter's neck. Then slowly lifted his arms, letting them slide through the long sleeves. And then pulled down the tunic by its hem, clothing Peter once again. Then he spread the blanket over him again, tucking its edge under Peter's chin. Peter's eyes were drooping.

Edmund smiled at his brother. "It's okay. You can sleep now. You can sleep, Peter."

And so, Peter slept.

When Peter finally woke, it was night. He gazed around, twisting his neck to his side, not having the strength to move himself. There was a crackling fire beside him, a blanket over him, a blanket under him, and a squirrel digging its teeth into a nut. And was it…glowing?

"King Peter! You're awake!"

Peter blinked. He tried to get up, but then he had to bite back a scream, and decided maybe he was better off lying down. The squirrel hopped onto his chest and Peter had to dig his chin into his neck to get a good a look at him. "Cousin, where am I?"

"Oh, thank Aslan! You're not dead!"

"Should I be?"

"No, of course not, King Peter. It's just that King Edmund has been crying so, so much. And even though he hasn't eaten anything, he's vomited twice. I think he's sick, King Peter. He won't admit it."

"And where is he?" Peter asked, glancing around once again, snapping his neck to his sides. "Edmund?"

"Peter!" came Edmund's relieved voice. Yet shaky. "Peter, you're awake! You're awake!"

Peter turned to his brother, and gasped. "Ed! Edmund, you're—"

"I'm fine. I am. You are not. We need to clean the wound again. But don't go to sleep. Don't—"

"You're not fine, Edmund! Your chest is covered in scratches! And is that…is that a wolf's bite?"

Edmund grabbed his shoulder, clutching to it, hiding it from Peter's view. He sat down on a log of wood, rummaging through a kit. A healer's kit. There was a hammock swinging between two trees, two wooden bowls filled with boiling soup. Peter blinked. "Edmund? Did you do all of this?"

"How do you feel?" Edmund said, looking up.

"What do you mean? I'm fine. You're the one that's—"

"No, do you feel dizzy? Head heavy? Pain?"

"No, I'm fine. I don't feel anything. But Edmund, you need to—" Peter's eyes widened. "Edmund!" His brother was sticking a needle into his arm, not even wincing. Then he stood up, swaying on his feet. He knelt beside him.

"This'll hurt a little," he said, and then without any warning, plunged a needle into his arm, making him hiss. Peter blinked at his brother.

"What are you doing?"

Edmund didn't reply, just flicked his wrist, gritting his teeth. Peter glanced down. At the blood filled tube between them***. What the bloody hell?

"Edmund?"

"Shut up, please. This hurts much as it does."

"Are you—are you giving me your blood?"

"Yes. I thought it had killed you. But maybe not."

"Edmund! Stop this nonsense!" Peter yelled, twisting and turning under the blanket. But Edmund pinned his down with only one arm. Edmund hissed, biting his tongue in pain. "Edmund, please! You'll die! You're bleeding already!"

"I'm fine. You need it. You really need it. And besides, it's done."

Edmund pulled the dripping needle out of his arm. And then out of Peter's. Peter wanted to scold his brother, tell him he was a mad-case. But the sudden, sheer pain in his side didn't allow him to. He screamed, and Edmund instantly covered his mouth, cutting off his voice. "You can't scream, Peter. Please. I just fought a wolf who'd smelled us. If the Ogres find us…"

"King Edmund! The soup's getting cold!" Nightglow said. Peter glanced at him. He really was glowing. But he couldn't focus on that for long. Another wave of pain swept through his side. A burning pain.

"Hush, cousin. Fetch some water from the river. We have to re-do your stitches, I'm afraid."

"My what?"

But Edmund had already rolled down his blanket and pulled up his tunic. No, Edmund's tunic. Oh, what had his brother gone through? What had happened? "Ed?" Peter said through gritted teeth. But his brother shut him up with a rag in his mouth. "'Muuunnn…" Peter mumbled through the rag, trying to spit it out.

"No, Peter! You'll have to bite down on it. Because this will really hurt," Edmund said, scraping something off his side. Herbs, Peter realised bitterly. Then Edmund's expression twisted into a horrified one. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no. How?"

Finally spitting out the filthy rag, Peter asked, "Edmund?"

"I think it's infected, Peter. It's—Oh, Aslan!" he exclaimed, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, Peter. No, don't look!"

But it was too late. Peter's head already swirling. He suppressed the urge to throw up. The sight was absolutely gruesome. There was pus seeping out of the very temporary stitches, mixed with the blood he was still losing. "Edmund. Ed, that's…"

He let his head limp back, licking his dry lips. "I'm dying, aren't I?"

"No! No, you can't. Absolutely not. I'll fix this. I'll—"

"You did all you possibly could have, Edmund. I…I think I need to sleep…" Peter said, feeling warm the blood pool beneath him. He let his eyes droop. But a slap woke him.

"You don't. And you won't. We just need to get through the night. The horse will lead our sisters and Orieus—if he's alive—to us. Nightglow?"

The squirrel that was still glowing looked up. "Yes, King Edmund?"

"You must go. Find help. Go now. Stay on the trees, out of sight."

"But—"

"Now!"

The little squirrel flinched. Flustered, he jumped off and about, lost. Then he nodded, and hopped into the woods, looking very uncertain. Peter blinked, staring at the stars. Edmund left his side and he glanced at him. "Ed?"

"I can't keep you alive if I die, now can I?" he said, picking up another needle. Silver and sharp.

"Edmund, you can't do this yourself—"

"I can. Now please, shut up."

Edmund groaned, digging the needle into his shoulder. Peter couldn't help the tears. He was twelve. Edmund was twelve! Peter looked away, unable to bear the sight of the needle prickling his brother's skin. When Ed was done—his shoulder stitched and washed—he helped Peter drink some of the water Nightglow had brought them. And fed him some of the soup. Then cleaned his wounds, re-did the stitches—Peter didn't scream once, strengthened to see Edmund bear so much agony silently—and applied the gooey paste again. Then he helped him wear the tunic—despite Peter's protests—and slid down beneath the blanket beside his brother, shifting closer, smothering him into a hug.

"Edmund?" Peter asked, kissing his brother's hair.

"Don't you dare," he whispered into Peter's shoulder. "Don't you dare say goodbye. We just have to stay awake. They'll find us. Lu's cordial will heal you and then…"

"And then what?" Peter asked when Edmund trailed off, gritting his teeth, almost seething.

"We can talk about it later. No, hey! Keep your bloody eyes open, Peter!"

"But—"

"We'll talk. Do you remember the day Lucy was born?"

Peter blinked, looking down at his brother. "What?"

"When Lucy was born. Mum brought her home and there was almost an instant glow in the house. Everyone was laughing. No one was sad. I remember because I was so happy to see everyone happy. Do you remember, Peter? Do you remember the laughs?"

"I do. But Ed, you weren't even two years old. You can't—"

"And when Mum would bake cookies. We'd always fight over the last one left. You, me, Susan, and Lucy. I miss that. Fighting for food. There's too much food for us to fight now."

"Edmund, you're not making any sense."

"And how you'd creep into my room in the middle of the night to scare me. And I'd cry when you'd boo me. I was five, mind you. Of course, I cried. Then you'd have to hear Mum's scolding. But I still wouldn't stop crying. Then you'd coddle me the entire night and fall asleep holding me like a teddy bear."

"Ed—"

Edmund yawned, fluttering his eyelids. "And remember when Su found a rabbit? It was the whitest rabbit. I haven't seen a rabbit whiter than it even here. And I…I…" Edmund's head limped onto his shoulder.

"Oh, Eddie…"

Peter gently shook his brother. But he didn't wake. Peter smiled, brushing back his brother's hair, savouring that innocent smile. Oh, he'd missed it. His brother snuggled closer, mumbling something in his sleep. Then he groaned. Peter winced at the sight of Edmund's shoulder. He traced his hand over it, the stitches grated his fingers. He'd done a good job.

"Oh," Peter said, feeling the blood seep out again, soaking his tunic. There was no way he'd last the night. He could feel himself burning up. With a fever on top of everything…

"I'm so sorry, little brother," he said, kissing his brother's forehead. "I love you. I love you too much."

The moon rose. The stars began twinkling. The wind soughed past. Dizziness swept over him as time went by. But he refused to sleep. He owed that much to his brother. He kept sleep at bay for hours, slapping himself every time his eyes started drooping. But when the Sun rose above the eastern horizon and the birds began singing in the twilight, Peter slept.

"You should let it heal naturally," said a voice far too familiar to not recognise. Edmund smiled. He was alive.

"I don't like to see him in pain," replied another. Peter.

"Then why didn't you let Queen Lucy give him the cordial?"

"Because he'd never forgive me. Ed? Eddie?" Peter asked, stroking his brother's cheek with his thumb. "Ed, come on, time to wake up. Rise and shine, eh? Ed?" Edmund turned to his side, away from his brother. He pulled the blanket over his head, wrapping himself with it, and feigned sleep. "Edmund? Come on, what is it?" Peter asked, tugging at his blanket. Edmund didn't budge.

"I'll inform the Queens," said Orieus. Edmund could hear his retreating stomps.

"Edmund! This is childish!" Peter exclaimed when Edmund continued to act he was asleep and insisted on not replying. He snatched his blanket from his brother, tucking it underneath him. He blinked away his tears, shaking off Peter's hand.

"Go away!"

"Ed! Will you please just talk to me? I'm sure we can sort it out."

"We can't. Now leave."

"Edmund—"

"You killed yourself!" Edmund roared, jolting up from the bed. Peter blinked at his brother. "Why?" Edmund asked, voice bold.

"Why what?"

"Why did you throw yourself in front of that club?! How were you even there?"

Peter swallowed, sitting beside Edmund on the bed. Peter extended his hand towards his brother. But Edmund flinched away from him. Peter curled his hand into a fist, bringing it down to rest on his lap. "I followed you. The moment you left, I went after you. Had some help, of course. The fauns agreed to hide me."

Edmund wiped away a tear. "And why did you—How could you?!"

"Edmund—"

"Do you know what I went through? Do you have any idea what…" He shut his eyes, wishing the memory of his brother screaming and convulsing in pain, begging him to stop would go away. "Does 'I threw up thrice in a single day' sum it up for you? You screamed and screamed and SCREAMED! That club had practically cut you in half, Peter. And…and…"

"Ed? Edmund!" Peter yelled, pulling his brother close, rubbing his chest. "Hush. Stop it, Ed. Just breathe. I'm fine. We're both fine now."

Edmund finally let his tears fall, wanting to let it out, burying his face into Peter's neck, clutching to his shirt. He sniffed. "How many did we lose?"

"Forty. We would have lost many more if Susan and Lucy hadn't followed me." Peter chuckled. "Susan slapped me, Ed."

"Well, you deserved it," Edmund replied, smiling. "What happened?"

"Nightglow led them to us. I woke after Lu gave me the cordial. But you only woke now. You were practically frozen in the morning."

"And Orieus?"

"He was barely holding on by the time our troops got there. But we saved him. And thank Aslan for that. Narnia wouldn't survive without him. Because we wouldn't survive without him."

Edmund looked over Peter's shoulder, then nuzzled into his chest again. "Where are we? Not in Cair."

"At the bank of River Rush. We made camp since so many needed to be treated."

"Now tell me, why?" Edmund whispered into his neck, shoving aside the horrible memories.

Peter smiled. "Let me tell you what would have happened if I hadn't." Edmund blinked at his brother. "The club would have struck you. And you would have died right then and there. And I would have watched you die."

"That's what should have happened," Edmund murmured.

"And then—" Peter continued, frowning at his brother. "—I would have died, too."

"No, you wouldn't have, Peter," Edmund said, furrowing his brows.

"Wouldn't I have?" Peter smiled, pulling his brother closer. "If I'd lost you on that battlefield, Ed, I'd have lost myself. First, my soul. Then, my sanity. And then my life."

"You're exaggerating, Peter. Sure you would have survived. You can't throw yourself into harm's way for me. You're the High King! I have to protect you!"

"You know what I am before I am the High King?" Peter asked. "I'm your big brother. And it's my duty to protect you. It has been that way since the day you were born." Peter pressed a tender kiss to his hair, rubbing his back when he started sobbing. "I'm so sorry, Ed. I'm so sorry for everything you had to go through, had to witness. You're only twelve and you had to…" Peter shook himself. "Will you forgive me?"

Edmund gave a soft snicker. "Of course," he whispered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Peter smiled to hear excited laughs and his sister's inquiries about their brother's health. "Now, I've made my time of fussing. It's your turn. Brace yourself. Here they come!"

"Edmund!"

Fin

*I was originally planning on making Edmund go through all this alone. And then I thought, nope, he's twelve. And it doesn't matter he's a King. Twelve-year-olds can't do that. Come to think of it, he still shouldn't have managed to do any of that. But eh. He is a King.

**That's about 10 kg.

***I honestly had to research quite a bit on that. Vein to Vein transfusion is very risky and uncommon but it can be done. And don't blame Edmund for not knowing better! He's not a doctor. How was he supposed to know they should have the same blood-type? But it's a good thing they're brothers and do, right?

Author's note: Well, here! I know it was excessive gore and too detailed. But I thought if our characters are actually going through it, we can at least survive reading it, right? I hope you like it, Cherry2506! This was for you. :-)

And if any of you have prompts you'd like me to write, or characters you'd like to see in pain, I'm willing to give it a try. So far I've only written Peter and Edmund whump. These boys deserve a rest.

Response to P: Thank you! You have no idea how nice it is to hear that!

With love,

~Pacifia

Chapter 14: Ignoring an Injury

Theme: Now Where Did That Come From?

Prompt: Ignoring an Injury

Warning: Mild violence and some blood. It's angsty though.

I hastily gave the Galman my hand and waited for him to kiss it already! When he finally did bring his lips to my hand, I snatched it back, gave a likely informal courtesy, and hurried off. A bird had just brought me the news that my younger brother had collapsed. Collapsed! And here I was having a pleasant conversation with a suitor. I gathered my skirts in my hands and sprinted, despite the scolding my subconscious was giving me. My brother's chambers were in the Western Wing, as all of ours were. And I was in the Eastern Wing. Hence, it took me more time than I liked to reach my brother. I turned the knob and the door shot open.

"Edmund?" I panted, breathless.

Lucy didn't really answer, just gave me a solemn look. Peter never even bothered to look up at me; he was staring at our brother, perched beside him on his bed. Lucy grabbed my arm and led me to the sofa opposite to the wide bed. But I couldn't look away from my pale brother. Every ounce of colour had drained from his face. He was ghostly white now, face wrinkled and thin. My vision blurred as tears welled up. I sat beside my sister on the sofa, holding her close with one arm.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked Peter. Peter didn't reply. "Peter!"

My elder brother finally heard me. He blinked, looking at me. "Su." He turned to Ed again. "He's just lost a lot of blood."

I stifled a gasp. "What do you mean?" Peter gently pulled down Edmund's blanket, rolling up his shirt to show me. "Oh. Oh, Peter. Why didn't he tell us?"

Lucy nuzzled into me, sobbing now. I hushed her. Peter tucked our brother under the blanket again, stroking back his hair. "I don't know. We don't how severe the wound is yet. So, Lu hasn't given him the cordial."

"What do you mean you don't know! Did you see what I saw?" I exclaimed. "Heal him this instant, Peter!"

"We've decided to let the healer take a look at him first. He should be here any minute. I knew he'd been injured in the raid but I thought he'd recovered. He hid his pain from us. He knew we couldn't afford to be distracted at such a time."

By such a time, my brother meant the delicate thread of peace breaking between Narnia and Calormen. It was such a petty matter. Edmund had rejected a Tarkheena, breaking her poor heart, in her words. She'd claimed she'd cause a war between our nations. We had, of course, disregarded her. Until the delegation came. They told us we needed to sort the matter with the Tarkheena and her father, Tarkan Firosh. Otherwise, the disputes might even cause a war. Edmund had felt guilty, had even agreed to marry the Tarkheena if Narnia would be at peace. But Peter had held up a hand, adjourning the council. The brothers talked for an entire night. Yells, insults, mocks, sobs, reassurances, all echoed out of the room. Until it all went silent and Lucy found their brothers asleep the next morning, Peter curled up stiffly in a chair, and Edmund sprawled on the bed. That was three days ago. Since then, things had not bettered. I was busy dealing with my suitors, whom I had to tolerate in order to avoid similar problems with other nations. While my siblings attended countless meetings, trying to somehow make peace with the dignitaries. Nothing ever seemed to lessen the tension. It always ended the same way.

My sister sniffed beside me, curling into my side. I could see she was sleepy. I looked back at my brother. The horrible image came back, flashing before my eyes repeatedly. When I had heard Edmund had been injured in the north, I had sobbed for an entire night before they finally came home. It wasn't too bad, they'd said. Just a small gash. But that was not a small gash. That was my brother's skin pierced, organs punctured, so much damage done by a giant's club. And yet we had not noticed his pain all this time.

"How did he manage to—"

"I reckon he changed his bandages every morning, burned the ruined ones, and braced himself through the pain. He's always been good at hiding things," Peter replied, wiping his eyes. "I was there with him. For a whole night. And I had heard the gasps, the grinding of teeth, had seen the curled fists. But I thought he was just angry. Never realised. Oh, Susan, I am such a horrible brother."

I took Lucy's asleep form in my lap, letting her curl up on the sofa. "Either you are joking or you've gone mad, Peter," I told him. He shook his head. I sighed. "You couldn't have known, Peter. As you said, he was always good at hiding things. What happened?"

"I found him in the library. Thought he was sleeping. But he didn't wake when I shook him. Then I saw the blood. Susan, I—I thought he was—" Peter burst into tears. He leaned down, taking Edmund into an embrace, sobbing lightly into his shoulder. "Oh, Eddie, why?"

I was glad Lucy was asleep. She never could bear to see Peter cry. Even I was hardly holding back my own tears. "You said he was in the library. What do you think he was doing?" I asked, my voice thick and cracking with the unshed tears. "Was he going over the Tarkheena's letters again. She was—"

"She's dead."

I blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Peter sat up again. He cleared his throat. "Dead. Murdered. No one knows how. Tarkan Firosh was murdered, too. A day after his daughter's death."

"Oh, Peter. How?"

"I told you. No one knows. They were in the Tisroc's Palace. It's the most secure place in Tashban. And yet…" Peter gave a smile. "They're terrified, Su. The Calormenes. I don't think they'll want to disrupt the peace now."

"So, what was he doing?" I asked him, curious now.

"Law books. He was studying Galman law. At least, that's what I think."

"Peter?" I said when Peter left Edmund's side. "Pete, what is it?" He began pacing. Then he turned.

"I'm going to the library, Su. Give him the cordial. Now. Now!"

I flinched and Lucy was startled awake. She rubbed her eyes. I gave her a look and she understood. She uncorked her vial, walking to Edmund's bedside. She fed him a drop and waited. Nothing happened. Seconds passed but there was no movement in my brother. I furrowed my brows, confused and concerned. Peter rolled up his shirt. The wound was gone. But why hadn't Edmund woken? I walked to my siblings, taking Edmund's hand in mine. Lucy frowned, pulling up his eyelids. She waved her hands in front of him but his irises didn't follow the movement. "Call the healer, Peter. Something is very wrong," Lucy said, turning to Peter.

But Peter was already gone, the door swinging to and fro.

~o~

The healer came and went. He could tell us naught. Only shake his head gravely. He'd said it was a wise decision to give him the cordial, the wound might have gotten infected. But he didn't understand why Edmund hadn't woken yet. He left with a solemn bow, after giving us some herbs to bring his fever down. I dabbed the wet cloth on my brother's forehead again, crying internally at the blank face. So emotionless. So lifeless. Edmund almost always wore a scowl. If not a thorough frown, then a cheeky grin. But now, he almost looked dead. I gave myself a shake and scrubbed his arms, desperate to bring his temperature down.

It had been almost an hour since Peter left, and I could see Lucy was anxious to have him back with us. I gulped, turning to my sister. "Lu?" She glanced up at me. "Will you look after him? I'll go check on Peter. To the library, did he say he was going?" Lucy nodded, smiling. I stood up and she took my place beside Edmund. I handed her the cloth, guiding her to wet it and then dab his forehead with it.

Then I gave her one last smile and went out the door, shutting it behind me. The windows lining the walls seemed bigger today, the light refracting through them, causing me to blink repeatedly in order to adjust to its intensity. It was because of this that I never noticed Lord Janin. As a result, I bumped right into him, making us both fall in a graceless heap on the floor. I was still rubbing my eyes when the Lord kindly reached out and helped me on my feet. Lord Janin was a handsome man, to say the least. Taller than even my elder brother, eyes holding in them a green mist, sun-streaked hair curled and longer than Edmund's, and lips almost shiny. I blushed hard when he gently placed a kiss on my hand. Then I brought my hand to my side, smiling at the Lord. I curtsied, my skirt curled in my hand, lifted an inch off the ground.

"It is a pleasure, my Queen. You seem in a hurry. Is it anything of import? If not, may I ask you to join me for afternoon tea?"

I almost slapped myself, remembering. "I'm afraid I can't accept, Lord Janin. I must go to my brother."

Lord Janin's features tensed for a fraction of a second and then he bowed, stepping out of my way. I turned pink again at his graceful manners. Thanking him, I strolled off. I crossed about five corridors, turning left at every corner, and then ascended up a flight of stairs. I apologised to the mice that I almost stepped on. Hurrying up, I thought about what Peter might be doing. He seemed to be troubled by something. As if he knew he'd missed an important detail. I quickened my pace, ignoring the ache in my legs. The large doors to the library had been left open. I entered.

"Peter?" I said aloud, surprised to not find him there. "Peter!"

Only silence answered me. I frowned, tracing a table's surface with my hand as I silently moved deeper into the library. Cair's Great Library was larger than mine or Edmund's. Lucy and Peter were content with a small number of books on their shelves in their chambers. The Great Library had two floors, curved stairs running up to the second. There was no ceiling to separate the two floors. The upper floor was built on widened edges, bearing more shelves and some tables. Hence, the sheer size of the library was intimidating to me, especially now that I had to search for my brother. My brother who wasn't answering my calls. I cupped my mouth, and shouted again for him, "Peter!"

Nothing.

I sighed, shoulders hunching. I'd have to go around the library after all. He could be studying in the very last section. That would explain why he wasn't replying. My voice wouldn't reach there, especially through so many shelves. I swept past the first section, my eyes wavering from one shelf to the other, searching for my brother. He wasn't there.

The second section came by and went. I still hadn't found him. Just how deep had he submerged? I began running, my eyes affixed on the shelves I was passing, and the gaps between them.

"Peter!"

This time I got an answer. A thump. And something colliding with my foot.

I looked down.

"Peter!"

I immediately knelt down, rolling my brother onto his back. He'd been stabbed. Very close to the heart. Or maybe it had got the heart. I screamed for help as I inefficiently tried to reduce the blood-flow with my hands, feeling nauseated at the sensation of the blood bubbling beneath my fingers. Minutes ticked by and I screamed again, feeling that my brother's life was draining away right in front of me. More painful minutes passed and I waited and waited and waited.

Until I finally heard the doors being flung open. I looked back, bursting into fresh tears.

"Oh, Lucy. Lu, quickly!" I screamed, aware that Lord Janin had brought her here. He was standing yards away now, an anxious look on his face. Lucy poured a drop of the cordial into our brother's mouth. It worked quickly, I felt the blood beneath my fingers stop seeping out, and the wound close up. I stroked Peter's hair, urging him to wake up. He was breathing. But he didn't wake. Lucy concluded it was the blood-loss. He was weak. I glanced around. No one else was there. "Lu?"

"We can't let news get out they're both…" She gulped. "Lord Janin can carry him."

Janin nodded. We both backed away, letting him gather Peter up. I was amazed to see him carry him so easily. Peter was not so light after all. We journeyed to Edmund's chambers in silence, hiding from the passers. When we finally reached Edmund's room, Janin put him down beside Ed. I asked Lucy to ask for another bed to be brought in; discreetly, if possible. I quickly fetched Peter's clothes from his room; it didn't take long since my brother's rooms were on the same floor. I helped him change his ruined tunic, and then sat beside my brothers on a chair. I had forgotten about Lord Janin's presence in the room until he quietly spoke up.

"I'm sorry, Queen Susan. I can't imagine what—"

"It's fine, Lord Janin," I cut him off, smiling grimly. I brushed Peter's hair back, then shifted my gaze to Edmund, blinking back tears at the white face.

"Then, I think I should be leaving."

"Wait," I suddenly said. I furrowed my brows, looking at him suspiciously. "What were you doing there?"

He stuttered. Before I could press further, the door shot open. It was Orieus.

"What is it?" I asked, after letting him consume the scene. He didn't seem surprised to see Peter unconscious beside Ed.

"Queen Lucy's gone."

At first, I could only gape at the words. Then I cleared my throat and asked with as much poise and calm as I could manage, "How, General?"

Orieus replied, "She was in the Northern Gardens, my Queen. I'd seen her myself." The Northern Gardens. I nodded. Then she was going to the Northern Wing. "And then, my Queen, I headed back to the Training Grounds. But an eagle came with the news that he'd seen Queen Lucy leave the Castle through the North Gate. I've already sent Griffins and Eagles to search for her."

"She left willingly?"

"The Eagle said so, Majesty," Orieus said, glancing at Lord Janin who was hovering nervously in one corner. I gave Orieus a nod, urging him to leave. He understood. Bowing, he left, wary eyes still looking at the Lord.

I turned to the anxious Lord, his eyes were apprehensive of what was to come. I wished to throttle him for bringing hurt to my family, but I asked gently, "Where is Lucy?"

The Lord looked up at me with watery eyes. His voice was raspy when he replied, "I tried to save your brother, my Queen. I tried. But it was already too late."

"Answer my question, Lord Janin. What have you done to my sister?" I asked, still calm.

"I saw him. I saw him—"

I blinked; the Lord sank to his knees, a thick blanket of guilt and regret seemed to surround him, clouds of remorse hovered over. It was all reflected in his green, misty eyes. I saw his innocence. And I knelt beside him, taking his trembling hands in mine. "Then tell me, who did this? Who harmed my siblings?"

Lord Janin shook his head. "I had to, Queen Susan. He has my sister." He tangled his fingers with mine, staring into my eyes with more rue. "I am so, so sorry."

"Wh—"

But he had already swivelled me in his arms, holding back my hands in a tight grip. He thrust forward, pinning me against the wall. I felt metallic cuffs bind my hands. He did not release me until I was securely tied to the wardrobe, the other end of the cuff looped around the hinge. I struggled, but when I was held in my place by my cruel bonds; I sank to the ground. Pleadingly, I looked up at the weeping Lord, silently urging him to help me. But he looked away, his nails stabbing deep into his palms. And just then, the door swung open with a soft creak. I looked at the door and resisted the urge to laugh at my own foolishness. The evidence was laid right in front of me, but I still managed to miss it.

"Your father is dying, you told me. His estate, his position in the court of Galma will go to your eldest brother, won't it? Jealousy led you to become this? But why did you harm my siblings? If it's me you want, I will go with you," I told the villain; he wore that same toothy smile, it seemed sinister to me now. "Please. Heal my brothers. And release my sister for I know you have her. I'll come with you, I swear by Aslan."

Lord Janin backed away like an obedient minion and Duke Artus, still smiling, took slow steps towards me. Duke Artus was a short man; I had wondered how light he must be with the thin figure and short height. I had seen him as a humble man, appreciative, who had come to Narnia solely to please his dying father. With his black hair and even blacker skin, his white teeth gave the perfect contrast when he grinned evilly once again. He knelt before me, his brown eyes affixed on me. I inched away.

"You think I want you, Queen Susan. Do you put yourself that high? Do you think you are a prize for men? Something we all race to attain?" he asked, tucking back my hair.

I looked away, at my sleeping brothers. Oh, if only they were awake. What they would do to this poor man…

"It's the Throne of Narnia, I want," he confessed, standing up. I could finally breathe again. And suddenly, it all pieced together.

"You would kill my siblings and marry me. That was your grand plan?"

"It is still my plan, Queen Susan," he said, walking to Janin now. I smiled to see he barely reached his shoulder. He pulled out a silver knife and placed it onto the Lord's palm. He curled his fingers around its hilt. "Kill the High King."

"What? No!" I screamed, thrashing against the cursed cuffs that still would not release me. Lord Janin was trembling brutally, cold tears leaking out of his eyes. He wasn't a murderer. I relaxed a little when he shook his head.

"I can't. Please, don't make me. I won't," he breathed out through his tears, still shaking his head.

"Are you certain you do not wish to, Janin?"

"Please…"

Artus snatched the knife from the Lord's loose hands. It glinted once in the yellow light pouring in through the windows and then disappeared into Janin's shirt, digging into his flesh. I screamed when the blood began soaking his tunic, dripping onto the tiles, droplets spreading in obscene circles. "No!" I screamed again when he dropped to the ground, gasping, hands uselessly clutching to the wound. His green eyes turned a sad black and then the narrow slits shut completely, taking away his light. Artus kicked him once, rolling him onto his back, the blood on the ground seeping up his golden curls. I was sobbing now, head dropped ahead, mind filled with sorrow for the loss of an innocent life. For he was innocent. Artus pulled out a white handkerchief, the flag of Galma had been weaved into it. He wiped his hands with it.

"Such a loss." He grinned a dog's grin. I looked at him in disgust. "Do you know what I did to your sister, Queen Susan?"

I was shaking with sobs, still moving away from the advancing Duke. He knelt before me once again, coldly stroking my chin. "Please don't hurt them."

He laughed. "I reckon she's already sailing for Calormen. There, in Tashban, she will be sold." I shook my head in denial. It couldn't be. Not my little sister. Not dear Lu. "And your brothers…"

He stood up, smiling. He reached Edmund's bedside in three long strides. He pulled up his shirt. And looked surprised. "You healed him. How?"

My head shot up. "You—you did that to him?" I asked, voice quavering with sobs. Pure fury filled me at that thought. For the pain my little brother had endured, for the guilt Peter had held in his heart. How dare he?

"Oh, I did much more," he said, pulling out another knife. No. He would not hurt my brothers. Not again.

"Don't," I warned. "You will regret it, Artus."

"You haven't wondered? Why he hasn't woken yet?"

"Don't!" I screamed when he brought the knife to my brother's stomach, the blade hovering over his scar, where Jadis had stabbed him nine years ago. "Don't you dare! I swear I will kill you if you hurt him again, Artus! Don't!"

"But won't you like to see? What I did to him?" he asked, looking almost vehement about it.

"No. Don't!" I yelled again when the Duke pressed the blade onto my brother's stomach. "He's already dying! Please. Please don't hurt him further. I beg you. I beg you!"

Artus scowled, crossing his arms, looking like a child who'd just been denied candy. "Oh, your love melts my heart. Well then, if it is your wish." I let out a hiccoughing breath when he put back the knife on his sword belt. "I would have sold him, too. Spared him from death. But he discovered my truth, you see, Queen Susan. He's too clever for his own good." He circled the bed until he reached Peter's side. He looked him up and down, shaking his head. "Not so magnificent now, is he? I would have waited to kill him. But then I saw him sprinting to the library. That's where I was going. To burn any evidence. But he'd already found the clues his brother had left him. Did I tell you he's too clever for his own good? He'd marked pages of the Galman Law Volume before the drug could do its work. But High King Peter had found out, too. Now, tell me, is it my fault they're dying or theirs?"

I lurched towards him but the cuffs still refused to let me go. "You will pay," I said with sheer conviction. Then I blinked. "It was you. That's how Ed knew. It was you that killed her."

He turned, beginning to walk towards me again. I smiled, looking across him. "No, no, Queen Susan. I haven't left Cair Paravel since I first arrived. One of my assassins, you mean to say. The Palace of Tashban is not as secure as the Tisroc claims."

"You will pay for your crimes, Artus. Even if we lose this battle, you will pay. One day, you will. Because Aslan sees all."

He squatted before me. "Will he see this?" he asked, pecking a kiss on my cheek. At the filthy and repugnant touch, I winced.

"You animal," I told him. "You will pay; He will not forgive this."

"No? Then what's the wait?" he asked, holding my face still, his fingers digging into my cheeks and temple.

"Don't," I warned him.

But he brought his face closer, sneering at me. He breathed out, his warm, stinking breath brushing past my face, "You are a prize, Queen Susan. And it seems I have finally won you."

"Don't, Artus. You will seriously regret it," I warned again.

He only smirked, caressing my hair.

"I gave you your chance."

And Peter drove Rhindon through his neck; the Duke made choking noises as Peter pulled his sword out of him, letting him limp on the ground. The Duke's bloody hands went lax as death claimed him. Peter kicked his body away from me and crouched in front of me. "Oh, Su. I'm so sorry," he said, kissing my forehead gently. I nodded, swallowing.

"Quick now. Break the cuffs."

Peter stood up. He moved beside me, holding Rhindon above his head. He struck the cuff's metal chain once and it instantly broke, finally freeing me. I rubbed my sore wrists, and looked at my younger brother. "Edmund."

We both rushed to his side. Peter glanced at me. "He put something in him."

"What?"

"Shards of some sort. I don't know. The book doesn't say."

"Wait, how do you—"

"We need get them out. And he needs Lu's cordial."

I turned grim at her mention. "But Lucy is—"

"Oh, thank Aslan I wasn't too late!"

I blinked, turning to see my sister burst in through the doorway, holding the broken knob in her hand. Behind her, were Orieus and two more Centaurs. They didn't enter, as Peter had not commanded them to yet. I continued to blink in wonder as my sister ranted on about the various reasons for lateness and pulled out her dagger from its sheath. Peter and she were conversing in tones that made me seem like an utter fool. A left out. What had I missed? I was pulled out of my thoughts only when I saw Lu draw a long cut on Ed's abdomen.

"Lucy!" I scolded, ready to snatch the dagger from her. She ignored me and went on.

She spitted out a loose strand of hair and said, "Peter, hold back my hair, will you? I can't see clearly." Peter did, watching our little sister as Lucy drew another cut, forming a bloody cross over Edmund's stomach. I grimaced, tears welled up at the gruesome sight. But Peter and Lu were as calm as the ocean without tides. "Susan, the healer's kit. Fetch it. Quickly, please."

I gulped, stepping out of the cloud of grim thoughts. Hurriedly, I strolled to Edmund's wardrobe, rummaging through the hanging tunics like an idiot. Then gaining back some sense, I pulled open the drawer, relieved to find the kit in it. I dashed to my siblings and handed Lucy the kit. She pulled out a pair of tweezers. I looked away as she dug them into our brother's flesh, pulling out the shards one by one. She let them fall to the floor. After eight chinks, she finally pulled out her cordial. And fed Edmund one drop. We all held our breath, and the silence that seemed almost eerie stretched. Until Edmund finally sucked in a sharp, long breath.

I laughed along with my siblings when he blinked at us, giving us the why-are-you-all-hovering-again look. Peter was the first one to embrace him. I held myself back as Edmund scowled but returned the hug. "You figured it out then?"

"Barely," Peter whispered into his shoulder. He pulled away, giving our brother an arcane look that I knew only he could understand, and then invited me and Lucy to join them. We both jumped onto the bed, crushing our brothers into a hug.

"I'm covered in blood," Edmund pointed out, grimacing. But we didn't let him go until Orieus spoke.

"High King, what should we do with the bodies?"

I whipped around, frantic. "No, wait!" I said, glaring at the Centaur who was picking up Janin's body.

"Oh," Lucy gasped.

"Susan—" my brothers tried. But I knelt beside the Lord, blinking away tears.

"Let his body be taken back to Archenland. To his family," I told Orieus. "And find out where Artus was holding his sister." And then silently, I whispered Janin, "Thank you. And Goodbye. May you rest in Aslan's Country, my Lord."

"So, you were awake when he…" I trailed off, horrified by the idea of my brother in so much pain.

"Hardly. I remember just bits and pieces. The laughs. The pain mostly. I managed to circle the word Clomerus before I passed out," Edmund replied, stuffing his mouth with a large bite of Lucy's pie. When I furrowed my brows in confusion, he told me, "It's an ancient way of trapping people in their minds. Until their body slowly shuts down."

"You're not serious," I said, putting down my fork. Lucy nodded, swallowing.

She said, "He's not joking. I went to the library, wanting to see what Peter was after." She glanced at her eldest brother. Peter gave a bow, chewing his share of the pie. "His clues weren't vague as Ed's were."

"What do you mean?" Edmund asked, his eyebrows knitting together over his eyes.

Lucy giggled. "I mean; he'd carved ARTUS on the bench."

Peter swallowed. "I knew someone was there with me. I heard him take out his knife. And I was weaponless."

"So, where was I? Yes, so I knew it was Artus. Then I went to Demiera to ask her what he could have done to Edmund."

"That's why you were in the Northern Wing. But wait, Orieus said you'd left," I said.

"We needed to make him think he'd won. You see, there was a girl. She wanted me to come with her. But I didn't know her. I asked her who she was. And she broke down and confessed everything. She was a Calormene and Artus had promised her freedom from slavery if she would lead me to the kidnappers."

"Oh," I said.

"And I told Orieus everything. Then we came up with the plan."

"The plan?" Lucy shrugged. "Never mind. And Peter, you were—"

"—awake, yes. The whole time. But I couldn't risk it. If you hadn't stopped him from hurting Ed, I probably would have lost it. And he…Oh, Su, I'm so sorry. I could have saved him. I could have...But I was still weak. I had to wait. Oh, Aslan, I should have saved him!"

I gave his arm a comforting stroke. "It is forgiven, Peter. By me and by Aslan. You couldn't have saved him, had you tried. You were too far. And weak, as you said."

"And I let you go through that," Peter said, looking at me with guilty eyes.

Edmund's head snapped up. "What did he do to you?" he asked me, his voice threatening.

"It's alright, Ed. He's dead," I told him, pressing my hand on his.

"Peter killed him too quickly," he said, glaring at our elder brother. Lucy snickered.

"I wasn't thinking about torturing him. I was thinking about saving you and Susan," Peter said defensively, drinking his coffee now.

With a wave of my hands, I dismissed the matter. "Wait, now, from the beginning. How did Edmund know?"

"I read her letters again, the Tarkheena's. She'd mentioned a Galman Lord who'd come to visit the Palace. I'd guessed it then. But I had to confirm it. The Galman records showed he'd been exiled years ago when he tried to force their Queen into marrying him by kidnapping her brother. Simply put, he was a psychopath," Edmund said. "And then I heard the footsteps. I'd already marked the pages that I needed to show you. I tried to fight but he drugged me. And then—"

"Yes, yes, you've told us. No need to repeat that part please," I said. "Have they found Janin's sister yet?" I asked Peter who had just finished his coffee and was now wiping his mouth with his handkerchief.

Peter looked up at me. "Yes, sister. She attended her brother's funeral. And she sends you her thanks." He stood up, pushing back the wooden chair. The gold railing of the Eastern Balcony gleamed lightly when Peter rested his hands on it and leaned ahead, staring at the horizon. "All the pain, all the blood and scars. They're all worth it, aren't they?" He turned, smiling at Edmund who was scowling.

"I've three scars on my stomach. Three! I've been marred!"

"But it's worth it?"

Lucy and I looked at him. He sighed. Then brightened up, smiling. "It is."

Fin

Author's note: So, combined the story. And I say it again, the prompt fooled you, not me!

With love,

~Pacifia

Chapter 15: Memory Loss

Alternate prompt 9: Memory Loss/ Amnesia

No warnings. I'll say I'm not entirely pleased wtih this one in terms of execution. At first, I had more of a humorous story in mind. But then, it kept get angstier and angstier until the humour totally disappeared. I've always wondered what memory loss would do to the Pevensies, and this is not half of what I had in mind. But you can write only so much in 4418 words. ;-) Anyway, read on, please. And tell me what you think and if you've found any errors in spelling or grammar. I hope you enjoy!

"Get to Ed first!" Peter yelled through the small opening in the door of his cell. But ignoring his request, Susan helped unlock the door, and then clicked open the manacles he'd been bound in. The damp and slippery ground only marginally decreased his pace as he bolted out of the cell and dashed to his brother's, Susan right on his heels, eyes frantic. Peter didn't know what the witch had done to him. But he'd heard the citations, recognized the ancient Narnian words. It was maddening to sit in that dark hell, listening to his brother's raw screams. He saw Lucy's golden hair disappear into the blackness of the cell. And Peter sprinted, despite his wobbly legs and aching head. He reached the cell, receiving numerous questions about his health from the Narnian soldiers that his sisters had brought with them. But he could only gape at his brother.

"Peter! Oh, thank Aslan you're alright," his brother said with great relief as Lucy worked on his bonds. "I thought she'd killed you. You'd been so quiet these past days. Peter?"

Peter stared in sheer disbelief. He stood frozen. And managed to be separated from his brother for a grand total of three seconds before dashing to his side to take him into a fierce embrace. "She didn't hurt you?"

"No. I don't—I don't think so. I don't remember."

"Edmund?"

Edmund shrugged off Susan's hand, reassuring her with a smile. But she brought them both to a stop, letting the rest of the party trek forward through the trees, and made him turn to her. "Are you certain you're not hurt? Peter seemed quite worried."

"I'm fine. I have Peter to fuss over me. Don't you start, too."

Susan released him, nodding at him. "Come then." And she began dragging him forward.

As Edmund avoided a protruding branch by ducking underneath it, he wondered if he really should be alarmed by his growing headache.

They made camp for the night, stopping at the bank of another foreign river of this alien western land. Being outside of Narnia, still miles away from her borders had left Peter with a sore mind and bitter mood. Especially to see his brother hide his pain from them. He cracked another branch from its middle and tossed it into the crackling fire, the embers sizzled as they rushed up from the fire and then floated away with the gust of cold wind. Peter sighed, breaking another small branch. He used it to adjust the coal pieces, settling them in a more preferred position beneath the wood planks, and threw it into the fire, making more embers rise up. He gazed up at the sky. It must be really late for Cleistius to have risen in the mid-sky already. The brightest star stared down at him, as if scolding him for staying up so late, when his younger siblings were huddled together under the soft blankets, Edmund sandwiched between their sisters. He wore a wry frown, but still looked pleased to feel warm and safe. But Cleistius needn't have given him a scolding. Orieus was there to serve that purpose. Peter sighed, turning to his General who was leaning on his long sword. The other Centaurs had spread around camp, circled around to keep watch.

"You do not wish to sleep? Are you not tired?" the General asked him, dropping more heavily on the blade, to lean towards him. "After almost a month in captivity, King Peter, you need your siblings. As your siblings need you," he said, glancing at his sleeping brother and sisters. Lucy had a frown on her face and Peter could see she missed his presence beside her. "What is it that bothers you? It is finished. The evil has been defeated. The witch is dead. Yet you seem worried."

"Edmund shouldn't be alright." Peter waved his hands, knowing it had come out wrong. "I mean, I heard his screams, Orieus. She was—she had—"

"Hear me, King Peter." Peter turned to him. "Look at your brother. Is he ill?" Peter glanced at his brother, and seeing his flushed, pink face, Peter shook his head. "Is he injured?" There was no blood, no mortal wound slowly draining his life away. Peter was inclined to agree with the Centaur.

"He isn't, Orieus. But—"

"He is just fine, Peter. Now sleep. For you need it."

Peter smiled grimly and hauled himself up, leaving the fallen tree's stiff seat. He walked to his siblings, savouring their subconscious smiles. Crawling underneath the blankets beside Lucy, he slipped an arm across to his brother's forehead, brushing his too long hair off his face. He glowered, knowing his wasn't much better. He fingers tangled into his brother's hair. And Peter slept with a smile on his face.

When morning came, Lucy was the first of her siblings to wake. She yawned, stretching out her stiff arms. It was a peaceful morn, even outside of Narnia, she could help feel home. Birds singing, the pink sky, the sunlight reflecting off the surface of the water to glint brightly. It was all pleasant and serene until Edmund growled.

"Peter! Get your fingers out of my hair! It hurts!" Susan was jolted awake, and Peter was half-ready to draw his sword, absolutely startled by the loud yell. But he blinked, rubbed his eyes with his free hand and laughed. Edmund crossed his arms, scowling fiercely. "Do you care to explain?"

Lucy moved back to get a good look at the scene, and could not stifle her amused giggles. Edmund's hair now almost reached his shoulders and overnight, Peter's fingers had weaved their way into his hair, forming a great, looking-almost-unsolvable tangle. Susan was laughing too, but she crawled on her knees to their brothers and slowly worked to free Peter's fingers from Ed's hair. Edmund looked ready to scratch Peter's face off with his angered expression. But Peter was still laughing. "Susan!" Edmund said, grimacing in pain.

Susan frowned. "It's not my fault you have so many great knots in your hair. After we've had breakfast, you both should come to me. I'll cut your hair, for Aslan knows you need it. Will you look at this?" she said, holding a tuft of Edmund's hair straight with her fingers. "It's longer than Lucy's!"

"We were captive for a month!" Edmund protested, snatching back his free hair. Peter was rubbing his index finger, still laughing. Edmund turned to him. "You're no better!" And Peter really wasn't.

"Alright, alright, enough. I'll go see Orieus, ask him what we're having for breakfast. Su, why don't you cut their hair until then? Otherwise you'll be eating your hair along with your meal." When Peter and Ed both backed away, Lucy shrugged. "Or you could always tie them up in a braid. Like I and Susan do."

Their eyes widened. "Mine first!"

After Susan very skilfully cut Peter and Edmund's hair (they both now found odd that it was didn't even reach their ears) and they had breakfast—buttered toast, soup, and coffee for Peter—Edmund quietly slipped away, hoping his siblings wouldn't notice his absence before he could go back. He avoided another over-grown root and twisted away from a branch. And when he thought he was finally deep enough and away from the camp, he sat down on a flat rock, sighing. He rubbed his temples, the headache was growing worse. He had barely managed to eat his breakfast without screaming. His nerves felt ready to burst when he chewed.

He leaned back against the tree, letting out another sigh. He wondered why Peter refused to take his eyes off him for even a second, or let him go as far as an arm's length from him. He was completely fine. Not counting the headache, of course. Yesterday, he had remembered how they'd been captured, what the witch had done to them. He just didn't remember the events of the past four days. But now, he'd forgotten everything. Every detail. It was all foggy. His mind felt dusty. The memories fading and drifting away. It was so odd. It felt almost sickening. To try and grab a memory that was floating just out of his grasp. And then feel it grow even fainter with every try. Until it completely disappeared and he couldn't even remember its existence.

He shuddered. And then came the distant call. Peter's voice.

"Ed!"

Edmund sighed. He stood up, cursing the witch for giving him this unbearable headache. "I'm here, Pete! Coming!"

"He's fallen asleep again, Su," Peter whispered to her, leaning towards her, adjusting on the saddle. "He's fallen asleep on a horse," he added. "He's fallen asleep Riding. A. Horse.

Susan gave him a huff, soothing the whinnying creature that was carrying her by rubbing its neck. "That's normal, Peter. He's exhausted," Susan assured him, smiling now.

"No, you don't understand. You don't know, Susan. You—"

"Then tell me," Susan said.

Peter shook his head. "We should stop. It's almost dusk."

Susan nodded, now feeling uneasy, seeing the single tear trickle down her brother's cheek. He wiped it away. And the narrow opening she'd seen disappeared. He'd closed in on himself again. Not Peter. But the High King. Susan could do naught but pray.

They had come across another river; and though they were significantly closer to Narnia, Peter still felt bitter. She was still almost fifty miles away. The fauns had taken the guard tonight. So, the Centaurs, except Orieus all slept around the large fire they'd lit only meters away from the siblings. Some had laid down but most slept standing, their upper bodies leaning on their steel swords. At the slightest sign of danger, they would instantly be ready to fight.

"Peter?"

Peter smiled at his littlest sister and shifted to allow her to sit beside him on the blanket. He held his cloak up to let her snuggle beneath it. And then wrapped it around her. "Warm enough?"

"Yes," she replied, smiling. "Su's asleep. And Edmund—"

"Edmund never woke," Peter said, smiling grimly as he recalled how he'd carried his brother to camp. "Do you think he's alright, Lucy?" Peter asked, swallowing a lump to see Orieus' gaze fixed on him. The Centaur worried too much. Oh, then was Peter any better?

She nuzzled into him, her hair tickling his neck. But he stifled his giggles. "I think he's fine, Peter. Just tired."

"That's what Su said." Peter sighed. "Whatever is on your mind, Orieus, I would like to know," he told the Centaur who flicked his tail and galloped closer to them, rousing the dwarfs sleeping near with the thuds. Grunting, they turned and slept once more with their hands on their ears.

Orieus laughed softly, and then said, "I think you need to ask him that question, not your sisters. If King Edmund is in any discomfort, I am sure he would tell you."

"Peter?" a sleepy voice asked from their left, disturbing the dwarfs' sleep again. "Peter?"

But Peter was already by his brother's side. He asked him to stop rubbing his eyes—they were red and sore—and then led him towards his sister and Orieus. Orieus had already fetched them another blanket which he gave to Peter once he'd settled Ed beside Lucy, letting her take him in an embrace. He wrapped the thick blanket around his brother, tucking him in. Then sat beside him, taking him from Lucy. "Ed?" Edmund sobbed. Peter looked once at Lucy; she frowned. "Edmund? Ed, what is it? Are you hurt?"

"My head hurts. And I can't—I can't remember Mum."

"What?" Lucy asked, bewildered. They all remembered Mum. But Peter shushed her with a look.

"What do you mean, Ed?" Peter asked, stroking his short hair.

He sniffed, burying his face in his neck. "I don't remember her. I can't remember anything about her."

"It's alright, Ed. I can hardly remember anything from the other place. It's been six years."

"But I can't even remember her name!" Edmund cried. Peter saw Susan wake and Lucy furrow her brows. "I know I remembered her before. Her face. Her name. Her smell. I could remember, Peter. I don't. I don't remember anything!"

Peter took his brother's face in his hands. "Look at me. Look at me, Ed." Edmund did, his watery eyes fixed on him. "Now, do you remember Narnia?"

"Yes."

"Beruna?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember Aslan?"

"Yes. I could never forget Him, Peter. Of course, I remember."

"Then it's enough."

Susan and Lucy had now smothered Edmund into a makeshift hug from one side, whispering soothing words into his hair. "Our mother's name is Helen, Edmund. Do you remember now?"

Edmund shook his head. "No. Nothing."

"It's alright. It'll come to you," Susan said, making Edmund turn to her. "Promise. Your mind is just tired."

He shook his head again. "No, Su. I can—I can feel it. I can feel them fade away. The memories. And my headache…I'm scared, Peter!" he exclaimed.

"It's okay, Ed. We'll figure it out. It's okay," Peter whispered, cradling his brother. And in seconds, he'd fallen asleep again. Peter kissed his hair, laying him down next to him on the blanket. He spread the blanket more evenly over him and began stroking his hair.

Peter looked at his sisters, then at Orieus who'd turned grim.

Peter smiled.

Despite his own fears slowly swallowing him alive.

Susan woke to a terrified yelp the next morning, trails of dried tears still on her face. She hastily untangled herself from the blankets and rose from her seat, whipping around frantically until she finally saw her siblings. She could hold back a gasp.

"I don't know! I don't know!" Edmund was screaming, digging further into the tree, knees drawn up to his chest, and hands covering his ears, almost crushing his skull.

Susan was already running towards them, shoving past the Narnians, and telling them to give her brother some space, air to breathe. They dispersed on her command, still looking perplexed by their King's peculiar behaviour. Susan was ready to dash to her brother but Lucy's hand on her shoulder stopped her. She glanced at Peter who'd crouched in front of Edmund and was now conversing with him in soothing tones. But Susan doubted Ed heard anything over his own yells. Peter seemed to realise the same thing and slowly crawled on all fours to his brother. Edmund flinched away from him, but Peter took his hands in his, gazing profoundly into his eyes. Edmund relaxed—to an extent. Peter cradled Edmund's face in his hands, saying, "What's your name?"

"I don't know! Please!" Edmund pleaded, shutting his eyes. Susan's heart shattered.

"Tell. Me. Your. Name."

"I told you! I don't know! I don't remember!"

"Yes, you do. You do. Okay, tell me my name then. Say it."

Edmund's ragged, panting breathes ceased as his breathing evened out and he gulped. "P…Peter."

"See? You remember," Peter assured, pulling him in for a crushing hug. "It's okay."

Susan yearned to be with her brothers. But when she took a step forward, Lucy stopped her again, saying, "Wait."

And Susan waited, tapping her foot restlessly, arms crossed, thoughts of all kinds swirling in her mind. She couldn't even think properly. She waited until Peter had rocked their brother to sleep again. And then she sprinted to them. Peter's tears fell on his brother's face as he wept, unable to understand what had just happened. Lucy hushed him as Susan took Edmund from him. He resisted only for a second, then seeing Susan's face, he let him go, burying his face in his youngest sister's shoulder. "Peter?"

But Peter wept harder, breaking his vow that he'd never let his sisters see him cry. For the third time.

"Sire?" That was Grib's voice, the master dwarf. "Sire, what should we do?"

Peter turned to him, refusing to meet Lucy's eyes because he knew he'd made her cry. He swallowed. "Let him rest. We'll begin our journey tomorrow," he told the dwarf; he bowed and left his sight. "And Orieus?" Orieus looked up, surrounded by more Centaurs. "Take your soldiers and search the forest for food." He turned to Susan again. "Give him to me. You should have some breakfast. Go on, you two," Peter said, gently shoving Lucy towards the camp. He took Edmund from Susan and shoved her along with Lucy. The sisters gave him a look but then nodded. And were off.

Pressing a light kiss to his brother's hair, Peter whispered, "Aslan, please, keep him safe."

"Peter. Peter. Peter!"

Peter jerked awake, hand instinctively to the pommel of his sword, but he relaxed instantly to see his brother. He reached for him, tugging at the hem of his shirt to get him to sit down. Ed did, and Peter frowned to see tears on his face. "Ed, what is it?"

"Where are we?"

Peter smiled. "We'd been taken captive, remember? We're just a little West of Narnia."

Edmund, at first, blinked, as if recalling something. Then the expression faded and he tilted his head, and asked innocently something Peter never thought he would have to hear from his siblings, "What's Narnia?"

But Peter still said kindly, "Narnia, Ed. Our home."

Edmund began rubbing his temples. "I don't—I don't remember. I don't..." He gazed around, and gasped, shifting closer to Peter. "Peter, what are these things?"

"Edmund!" Peter yelled, losing his calm. "Stop this nonsense. You have to remember! Narnia. Our home. Our Kingdom. How can you forget? Narnia!" Peter shook him, rattling his teeth. But he still looked clueless. "Edmund! Don't you remember? Don't you remember our first battle? Beruna? Do you remember Jadis?"

At her mention, Edmund closed his eyes, whispering, "No."

And then his nose started bleeding. That scared Peter out of his wits. "Ed?" he asked, tapping his cheek once. But Edmund collapsed, going utterly limp in his arms. "Edmund!" Peter screamed, shaking him. But he didn't wake till morning.

In the morning, it took a lot of convincing to get Edmund to eat. He was scared Orieus would eat him. As Peter took another mouthful of the toast, he noticed Lucy was glaring at him. Susan had cooled off after yelling at him. But Lucy was still angry. They had a right to be. But Peter had been flustered. Afraid. He knew he shouldn't have yelled at his brother, his brother who didn't remember Narnia, and definitely shouldn't have asked him about Jadis, which made him pass out. Oh, Aslan, what a fool he had been.

"Ed, you alright?" he asked his brother who was drinking his tea.

"Yes. Just confused. About a lot of things. Why don't I remember anything, Peter?" he asked, turning to him. He was conscious that his sisters were listening to the conversation and would probably stop him before he could do something foolish.

"What do you remember, Ed?"

"Not much. Nothing. Just—I only know I know you. I don't…Peter, what if I forget you too?"

By this time, Susan and Lucy had stepped in. Edmund smiled at them as both sat down beside him on the grass, forming a circle. "Do you remember the first winter in Narnia?" Lucy asked in a gentle voice.

"But that's just it, Lu. I don't remember Narnia."

Susan visible stifled a gasp. But she said, "Then if you remember us, you must remember Narnia. How can you not? Ed, if this is some sort of a joke—"

But Edmund turned away, reluctant to see his sisters see him weep. Peter stood up. "Where are you going?" Lucy asked, rubbing her elder brother's arm.

"To the witch's dungeons. We need to find out what she did to him. And then reverse it."

"Peter—"

"I can't!" Peter shouted, bringing a stop to all activity in the camp. All eyes stared at him as he continued, "I can't see this. I can't sit around and wait for him to ask my name."

"Peter, please don't go," Edmund pleaded.

"Ed—"

"Please. I—I know I'll forget. If you go, I'll—"

Peter swallowed a lump. "I won't. It's alright, Ed. I'll send Orieus. Are you sure you don't remember anything?"

"It all keeps drifting away. If I try to recall, it hurts. It hurts so much."

"It's okay. It doesn't matter, Edmund. It doesn't matter. It doesn't."

As Lucy and Susan waved the Centaurs goodbye—they were now a distant black smudge moving down the slope—Peter wondered if his brother would remember him when he would wake up. If he even would wake up. Whatever that witch had done to him, Peter knew, oh, he knew it would haunt them. In this way, he had not expected. Would his brother remember him? A small voice in his mind scoffed at him. And when the sun set, hiding behind the tall, steep mountains in the West that marked the borders of Narnia, Peter wept once more, dreading whatever awaited them in the morning.

Lucy's sleep was disturbed when she hears yells coming from behind her. If she'd woken to the sweet tunes of the birds and the sun's light filtering through her eyelids, she would've almost believed they were camping in the Woods, like they had so many times before. But then she remembered. She wished to scream in frustration but gathered herself, and stood up. She raced in the direction of the sounds. Reaching her siblings, she gasped loudly, trembling. But Susan held her where she was, urging to her be quiet. Or she might just kill Peter.

"You can't kill me, Ed."

"I don't know you."

"But you can't kill me."

Edmund dug the sword deeper into his brother's neck. "I don't know you," he repeated more firmly, making his meaning clear. "Unless you tell me where I am, I will kill you."

"I've already told you. West of Narnia," Peter said, his hands raised in surrender. He'd been pushed back against the tree. "Edmund—"

"Not my name!"

"Then what is your name? Can you remember?"

"Stop!" Edmund yelled, gripping the hilt of the sword more tightly. "Stop it. You're giving me a headache."

"You are Narnia's King, Edmund. My Knight. My brother. Just try to remember. Just a little. Orieus is already at the dungeons. He'll—"

Edmund's eyes shone in the morning light. "King?"

"Aslan's King." Edmund dropped the sword. "You remember Him? Ed? Edmund?"

"I don't remember. I can't. I can't grab them. They keep leaving. They keep leaving me! I can't take it anymore!" Edmund said, sinking to the ground. "It hurts! Aslan!"

The Narnians who'd formed a circle around the Kings, watching anxiously, glanced at each other, their hearts breaking for the young King. Lucy wished desperately to be by her brother's side, but Susan shook her head. This, Edmund had to go through alone.

"You remember Him, don't you? Tell me, Ed, who is Aslan?"

"Stop!" Edmund yelled, flinching away from Peter who was taking steady steps towards him. "It hurts!"

"Tell me!" Peter insisted, kneeling beside his brother. He forced him to uncover his ears, pinning his hands down. "Look at me." Edmund refused to. "Tell me. Who is Aslan?"

"Please don't. Stop. Stop it!"

"Just tell me."

"I don't know!"

"You do. You remember Him. You love Him."

"Please. Please, stop. It hurts!" Edmund repeated, his breathing now laboured

"Tell me."

"Please."

"Who is He?"

"I don't know. I don't know. I don't know."

"But you love Him?"

"Yes."

And he went lax once more in Peter's arms, nose bleeding again. And fevered eyes showing through the narrow slits. And Peter knew. They'd lost him.

"He's dying, my King. The fever is killing him," said Grib. "Out here in the wild, we have no means to—"

Susan held up a hand. "Enough has been said, Grib."

"I'm sorry," with the words, the dwarf left. Peter's eyes never left his brother. He could still remember that cold look, the threats, the unfamiliar voice, the horrible feeling that his brother was gone, snatched away. He'd come back. For a second, he was there. And now, they'd lost him again.

"Peter?" Lucy asked, wetting the cloth with cold water once more. "Peter, please, you can't mourn someone who isn't dead. We can't give up. Peter? Peter!"

"Tell me when he dies," Peter said as he began trekking into the woods.

"Do you remember?"

"I can't. Please, it hurts."

"Do you remember Me?"

Peter ducked under another low branch, his face emotionless, eyes tearless. Just fiery, filled with fury. Not here. Not yet.

"I don't know."

"Do you love Me?"

Peter heard the sound of water. Falling. The river rushing past the shore. And he kept walking.

"Do you love Me, My son?"

"Yes."

Then let that be enough."

Reaching the cliff of the waterfall, Peter screamed, "Give him back!"

"But what of all I've left behind? All that I love?"

"I am all that you love."

"Give him back! How dare You! How dare You take him again! Give him back!" Peter screamed, falling to his knees.

"But what of them? Won't they miss me?"

The Lion smiled.

"Give him back. Please. Give him back, Aslan. Or take me with."

"You say it hurts when you try to remember. Are you willing to bear that hurt in order to return? Are you willing?"

Edmund considered, hesitating only for a second. "Yes."

"Then close your eyes."

And Orieus struck the purple stone with his sword, breaking it into two.

"Aslan?" Peter whispered. His voice was lonely. His reply only a whoosh of the wind. "Why? So many times. He's been hurt so many times. And now You've taken him. Return him, Aslan. Please, give him back."

"He did."

Peter shook his head, laughing. He didn't look back.

"Scared you'll find a ghost?"

"Scared I'll throttle you."

"It really hurt to come back, you know. You could at least give me a hug."

"Shut up," Peter said. Then sniffed, and finally turned. "You git!" he said, slowly walking his brother. "You absolute dolt!" he said, punching his shoulder. Then he pulled him in for another rib-crushing hug.

"That's my line."

"I hate you."

"Then why are you crying?"

"Because I can't help loving you."

Chapter 16: Reluctant Bedrest

Theme: I Don't Feel So Well

Prompt: Reluctant Bedrest

No warnings! I mean, the prompt has 'humour' written all over it. ;-)

Edmund coughed, despite his attempts to stifle it. Cold was an abomination. A curse. Worse than Jadis' cold glare, and her wand piercing through him. He hated colds! He felt that horrible tingling sensation in his nose again, and held his breath. Five seconds. Ten seconds. It was receding. He could win this battle!

"AA—choo!"

Or maybe not.

"Go away, Peter. I hate you," Edmund told his brother, crossing his arms. Peter just laughed. He was balancing the bowl filled with Lu's soup in his hands. He set it down on the bedside table, covered it with a thin plate—because he knew Edmund wouldn't be drinking it any time soon—and sat down on the armchair. He adjusted the coal pieces in the hearth with the metallic bar. Then turned to his brother.

"And why, my dear brother, do you hate me?"

"Because you won't let me leave my room! You know how much I despise bedrests!"

Peter shrugged. "You have more than fifty books—" Peter glanced at the pile of books, some torn, some missing pages, some placed with dignity. "You've read all of them?" Peter asked in sheer wonder.

"Yes."

"Well, Edmund, that's—"

"I don't want your flattery! I want you to tell the guards to let me leave!"

Peter frowned. "You tried to leave, didn't you?" Otherwise, how would we know Peter had four guards posted outside his chambers.

"Orieus threatened to tie me to my bed."

"Serves you right," Peter said, chuckling. "And…"

"Peter?"

Peter covered his mouth. No. Absolutely not.

"Peter?"

No! It couldn't be! He'd been so careful! He'd been drinking boiled water for Aslan's sake!

"Peter, you're scaring me. What is it?"

When he couldn't feel the tickles in his nose anymore, Peter breathed out heavily. He rubbed his nose, and said, "I—AA—CHOO!"

Edmund was already out of his bed and ready to sprint out of the room, screaming for Susan. But Peter grabbed him, yanked him back to his bed, and pinned him down. Even if he was sick, he was much stronger than his little brother. "You're sick! You can't just not tell her! It's not fair!" Edmund growled, thrashing against his brother.

"I'll make you a deal."

Edmund went limp, muscles relaxing. He looked at him with narrowed eyes, looked him up and down, and said, "I'm listening."

"I'll let you go out. Only for an hour."

"Three."

"One."

"Four."

"Two."

"Two and a half."

"Two," Peter said firmly, ending the argument. "But you can't tell Susan that I'm sick. I hate bedrests more than you." Peter sighed. And then seeing Edmund's amused expression, he furrowed his brows. A cough came from behind him. And Peter squeezed his eyes shut, praying to the Lion that it mightn't be who he thought it was. Slowly, he turned, and his shoulders instantly slumped in defeat.

Edmund giggled.

Susan only shook her head in total disappointment and said, "You're staying in bed. One room?"

Edmund and Peter glanced at each other. "Yes," Peter sighed.

"Edmund, quit chewing. I'm trying to sleep!"

"It's not my fault! The cereal's crunchy!" Edmund said with his mouth full of cereal and milk.

"You'll choke if you talk with your mouth full," Peter said, covering his ears with a pillow. "And if you don't stop flipping the pages, I swear I'll tell Susan you're feverish again."

Edmund's eyes widened and he hurriedly swallowed his cereal, wiped his mouth carelessly with his sleeve, and put the book under the bed, letting it join the already-read-books-pile. Then he sighed, laying down on the bed, propping himself on one elbow. He turned to face his brother. "Peter, I'm bored."

"Just go to sleep," Peter replied, his voice sounding like a distant echo from under the covers. How could he even breathe wrapped up that completely? "I have a horrible headache, Ed. And your voice sounds like Lucy trying to play the flute. And if I die, it'll be your fault."

"How about a game of chess?" Edmund asked, eyes hopeful and earnest. But then he realized Peter couldn't see him and frowned again. "Please?" he whined.

"What did I just tell you, Edmund? I have a headache. And a fever. And I don't think I can stifle more sneezes—AA—Choo!" The covers moved, raising up with Peter's elbow, as he rubbed his nose. "Please, just go to sleep. Or at least let me sleep."

Edmund sighed. Then his eyes lit up, a curious idea coming to him. "We can sneak out."

"No."

"No? You don't want to sneak out? Peter, it's snowing outside!"

Peter's raspy voice said, "And you're a mad-case who thinks it's a good idea to go out when it's snowing." Peter pushed off the covers, and sat against the head of the bed. Edmund grimaced. His hair could be mistaken for a bird's nest, and eyes looked gooey and sore, nose red. All in all, he looked absolutely miserable. Edmund felt sorry for him.

Edmund tried to brighten him up, "But you can wear two robes. And the warm slippers Lu made for you? And a scarf to keep your neck warm! Oh, I promise it'll be good, Peter. Please?"

"No, Edmund. I can't even breathe properly. AA—CHOO!" Peter rubbed his nose again. He rested his head against the bed. "I think I might be dying."

"It's just a cold," Edmund said, trying to shove away the grim thought. "You're not dying. And I can prove it." He hauled up from the bed and raced to Peter's side of the room. But Peter moved away from him.

"Ed, you've only just recovered. I don't want you to get sick again. You should—Edmund!" Peter exclaimed when he yanked him up from the bed by his wrist. Edmund caught him when he staggered on his feet and led him to the wardrobe. Edmund carefully placed his hand on the hinge of the wardrobe's door and told him to hold on to it tightly. He opened the wardrobe, and Peter's knees buckled as his brother rummaged through the wardrobe.

"Peter, you alright?"

"Yeah, just kneeling on the cold floor. But alright."

"Peter! Get up!" Edmund exclaimed, trying to get his brother to stand on his feet. But Peter limped on the ground again.

"I told you. I can't go. I'm sick!"

"Peter!" Edmund exclaimed when his eyes began drooping. Within seconds, he was completely lax on the ground, curled up into a ball. Edmund sighed. And then the door creaked.

"Ahem."

Edmund whipped around.

"Why is Peter sleeping on the floor?"

Edmund licked his lips and clapped his hands together, delaying his reply, his mind working on possible excuses. "Um…Well, you see, Susan, Peter wanted to sneak out…"

"Move your pawn already, Ed. It's the only logical move!"

"That's why I don't like to play with you. You bottlehead, you just told me what your next move is. You want me to move my pawn, so your bishop will have a clear path to the C4 and then you can knock off my defenceless knight." Edmund smirked. "And it's not the only logical move, brother. You are too busy planning your attacks, you forget to pay attention to your defences. There goes your rook," he said, knocking Peter's golden rook off the board with his Queen.

"I hate you," Peter said, turning away from the game.

"You can't just abandon the game, Peter! You'd run away from a battlefield if you start losing?"

Peter grinned cheekily. "This is not a battlefield, Ed. This is a stupid game. And I'm never going to beat you in it. So why ever try?"

Edmund sighed. "Yeah, whatever. I'll just ask Susan to play. But she says she doesn't have the time," Edmund said, picking up the heavy golden pieces and then depositing them into the small leather bag. "Without us, she's had to manage everything by herself. The meetings with the Archenlandish lords and ladies. Court hearings—I know they can get dull sometimes, and they've been asking for my presence, she's told me. And there's so much paperwork!"

Peter lied down on the bed again, pulling up the covers by their hems. "Sure Lucy's helping her."

Edmund placed the board and chess pieces on the table beside the bed and said, "Lucy's twelve, Peter."

"You were twelve when you persuaded Terebinthia's King to sell us their diamonds at reasonable prices. You reduced the prices to half!"

"But Lucy's also helping the rabbits start their carrot farms," Edmund replied. He stood up from the bed. Walking to his own bed, he said, "You're feeling better?"

"I still think I'm dying," Peter replied wryly. "Ed?" he asked when his brother didn't reply, and merely crawled underneath his covers. "Edmund?"

"You keep saying you'll die and you will."

"Oh, Edmund—"

"Bother, Peter. I want to sleep."

"It was just a joke, you know."

Edmund huffed and turned to his side, not interested in listening to his brother's apology. He shut his eyes and tried to relax. As his breathing evened and he felt sleep creeping closer and closer, he smiled, ready to drift into his dreams. But his brother chose that moment to speak again.

"Ed?"

Edmund remained quiet.

But then a gentle shove made him grunt. And he sat up. Peter was holding snow boots in his hands. "How about we sneak out?"

Edmund gulped. "Sure?"

"No."

"Then let's go."

"She's coming!"

"Edmund, lock the door!"

"Oh, Aslan help us."

"Lock the bloody door and get your boots off!"

"She's too close. We're doomed!"

"Lock. The. Door!"

"I think I'm going to faint."

Susan greeted the guards outside Edmund's room with, "Good Morning." She turned to the faun, smiling at him. "Have they been making trouble, Rill?"

"Some strange noises. But that's all," Rill answered.

"Strange noises?"

"I think they're having a fight, Majesty."

Susan furrowed her brows, and then thanked the faun for his services, telling him to have some rest. She would look after her brothers. When the guards bowed and left, she turned the doorknob. Only to find it locked. She frowned in concern and knocked. "Ed? Peter?"

She sighed and removed her necklace. She used the spare key that dangled from it to open the door. And entered.

"Edmund? Peter?"

She moved steadily towards Edmund's bed. The pile of damp clothes and snow-covered boots hidden behind the wardrobe did not go unnoticed. "Edmund?"

A sleepy voice replied from under the blankets, "Susan?"

"You haven't been sneaking out, have you?"

"No?"

She coughed, looking at the bulge on the other bed. "Peter?"

No reply.

"Peter?"

"I think he's asleep, Susan."

"Well, I'm waking him then. Peter!"

A half-stifled cough answered her. "Can I get some soup? And we're feeling fine. So, maybe let us go out tomorrow?" Peter asked, his voice seeming distant and raspy.

Susan smiled. Starting to walk out of the room, she said, "You're lucky the court hearings have exhausted me, Edmund."

Peter shot up from his bed, his cloak dripping with water. "What about me?"

Susan turned. "You almost let our brother freeze to death."

"But it's not like I dragged him out! He was with me on this!" Peter said, giving his chuckling brother a glare.

"Well, it's bad for you I enjoy being called the High Queen," she replied as she left the room.

"High Queen? High Queen?! That's ridiculous! Susan, come back here!"

Edmund watched in great amusement as his brother tried to run after their sister, but tripped, and got tangled in his blankets.

"Susan!"

Fin

Author's note: Well, did you enjoy it? If you did, leave a review! Another update coming today!

Response to P: FF is very glitchy, yes. But I'm glad you could fix it and are back with me! I really appreciate your support and encouragement! Thanks very much!

With love,

~Pacifia

Chapter 17: Rescue

Theme: Where Do You Think You're Going?

Prompt: Rescue

For BrokenKestral

It was a simple plan. We would organize a raid on the enemy camp, which was only three miles away from ours, and steal the Queens while the villain, Amastius, and his men were too busy fighting Peter and his troops. I had, of course, refused to be the one that would abandon the fight, and my King. Peter had managed to persuade me saying that the Queens would have a safer escort if I was with them. And I remembered he had taken an oath as a King to be the last to leave a battlefield. I had relented after momentary hesitation. The small battle had taken the form of a war, a bloody one when one of Amastius' men had slipped away to call the rest of their troops from a nearby village. I had been raised in wars. Fought my first one at the delicate age of twelve; I could hardly speak my own name correctly. But the hundred years after my father's last battle against the witch, I had seen gruesome wars, hideous fates of the ones that resisted.

I had seen much.

But Peter, dear Peter, my High King was merely a foal. Little and unprepared for this. To see his soldiers scream and die in front of him, as he continued to fight with all his might, knowing they would not win. He had lost hope and I knew this. I was galloping through the forest with Queen Lucy on my back. Riding a Centaur was rare privilege for humans, but I had no time to tell her that. Nor did I felt worthy to be called one of my kind. One of the noblest beasts of Narnia. I, who had abandoned my High King. I had sent a sparrow East to inform King Edmund, ask him to bring with him more troops. But I knew he would be too late. I wondered, oh I wondered, what I would tell the younger King. I would endure any punishment he would give me. But not the accepting look. And I knew that was what awaited me.

Die a soldier's death, not a coward's, my father had told me so many times since the Witch had risen out of her den to rule. It was what I had told the ones after me. To the ones that were not steadfast at heart, the ones that I knew would crumble if it ever came to their lives. They would kneel before the Witch. And she would win. My words rarely ever managed to turn their hearts. But when they did, I would sleep with a smile on my face that night. And now, after enduring so much, battling the Witch, and defeating her, I would abandon my oath? My King? My father?

I decided against it, and halted. All eyes turned to me, giving me questioning looks. Hushed whispers echoed through the party. But I gently lifted Queen Lucy off my back and put her on the muddy ground, damp with the recent rain. She and her sister had quickly huddled, recognizing the look I gave them. They understood and without uttering a word, nodded. It was Treximo, the Tiger who broke the silence, saying, "You won't come?"

I replied with a grim smile, "I won't abandon my King. Now, leave. Take the Queens to safety!"

And the Queens mounted their horses. They left with teary eyes. And I watched them go until they were a small dot ascending the Great Western Mountains. And I galloped West.

With a furious, raging battle cry of "Narnia!", I charged. Conscious that my King was fighting two men on his own, I forced myself to race to the middle of the war, slashing my long sword at the men would come dashing towards me, heads held high, confident they would defeat me. One after the other they crumpled to the ground, faces reflecting agony, and the light in their eyes draining. A blush of pink had touched the sky already, dawn was fast approaching, and that meant the war was about to get more hideous. Seeing the grotesque way in which a faun's leg had been twisted, I muttered a prayer to the Lion, drawing another gash on the man's chest, finally dispatching him. He had lasted for a whole minute, distracting me. And I had not noticed when King Peter left my sight. I spun around but he was gone.

Before I could scream for him, another one of Amastius' men cried loudly as he slashed his sword at me. I had only to jerk back. My hoofs remained affixed on the ground as I swung my sword once above my head and then easily drove it through his flesh. With a final tear leaving his eye, he dropped to the ground. And I wiped my sword clean on the grass. Then, again I searched the field for my King. But again I was distracted by a faun calling for help. A man was ruthlessly dragging him by his cuffed hoofs. A surge of fury filled me, and I raced to my fellow soldier. My sword tore open the bandit as I once again slashed it. I tossed my dagger to the faun, and helped him hide in the small cavity in the wide trunk of the tree around which the battle was unfolding.

I gulped and my eyes wavered from one face to the other, but there was still no sign of the High King. Had I lost him? Had I lost my King? Had I let him die? A foal? Was I to face his brother's sorrowful look, his acceptance, his tears? Was I to face the Queens' grief? My father's disappointed look? I refused to.

To the Griffins circling the sky, dropping heavy rocks at some of the clusters of Amastius' men, I screamed, "Scout the area! Find the High King!"

And once again with the cry, "Narnia!", I charged.

It wasn't until I saw the High King limp up the slope, wincing in pain from the slash on his last calf, that my heart began beating again. The burden was lifted and my sword went swiftly through the flesh of the bandit's neck; I decapitated him and turned my attention to another opponent that I would facing in seconds. But when I saw the High King not head for safety, but rejoin the fight, limping and barely holding up his sword, I let my guard down. The man crashed his sword with mine that I had barely managed to lift in time. I rotated under my long sword still attached to the blade of the bandit and kicked him in the shin with my hoof, surely breaking it. He let out a cry, dropping his sword. With a simple slash, I had killed him.

I searched for the High King again, and this time found him battling Amastius. I hadn't seen him leave his hiding since the battle started. But now that he had revealed himself we would miss the opportunity. I signalled the archers on the cliff that shadowed our battle, hiding it from the sun. And they drew their bowstrings, the nocks of the arrows held securely in place, ready to release.

And I turned.

To see another bandit, bow drawn, arrow on the string, eyes fiery, ready to fire. And when I followed his eyes' direction, I felt my heart stop. The High King, whose back was now turned towards the sneering enemy, was still battling off the Amastius, oblivious to the imminent threat, the lurking death only a few feet away.

I looked back at the bandit. He released the arrow and I heard my father whisper in my mind, "Die a soldier's death."

But I smiled. I would die not only a soldier, but a protector. And I leaped.

I had been struck with arrows before, seen them protruding out of my torso, seen my own blood ceaselessly pour out of me, pool underneath me. I had learnt to keep unconsciousness at bay for as long as possible. Learnt to block the pain. But what of my King's scream? How was I to ignore that heartbreaking screech? Calling my name? I felt inclined to go to him, implore him to stop screaming for my loss. The sounds had dulled, muddled around. Battle cries mixed with more screams seemed muffled now. I wished to shift my focus to the pain in my chest. But the pain of seeing my King cry over my body was greater.

Peter's golden face seemed trimmed with the intense light reflecting off his bloodied cheekbones. The blue of his eyes had faded into a sorrow-filled black as he continued to weep over my chest. He hadn't dared take the arrow out. Only now did I realize I was still. I weakly lifted my hand, pressing it onto his hair. He looked up with hopeful eyes, a focused gaze.

"Orieus. Oh, Orieus. You shouldn't have. Just hold on. Please. The Griffins say Ed's on his way. Please. Please, General. Please don't go. Don't leave, Orieus," Peter begged me. But I, hardly keeping my eyes open, clasped his hands in mine.

Wordlessly, I nodded, and smiled at my King. When the shrouding clouds blanketed the sky, and Peter's teary face finally was clear in front of me, I let myself drift into unconsciousness.

I remember only bits and pieces of the battle. Of our victory.

When I first woke, still on the muddy ground, I caught just a glimpse of Peter cutting through the men with ease. Anger fueled him. Fury led him. And I watched with pride as he battled through so many soldiers twice his age.

The second time I found the strength to open my eyes, I found eagles circling the grey sky, yelling at our soldiers that King Edmund was close. So was victory.

The third time, I wasn't still bleeding out on the ground, but a dryad—I was puzzled to see one so well out of Narnia—had me in her care, cradling my face in her wooden arms, whispering soothing words. But my heavy eyes drooped again. And darkness pulled me in.

The fourth time, my pain had receded and I was sitting with my back against a tree. The clouds were still hiding the sun, and seeing the wet ground—pooled with water mixed with blood—I wondered if it had rained. The younger King's relieved voice echoing in a distance, repeating his brother's name, made me smile as I once again drifted off into the world of obliviousness.

The fifth time I woke, I was on a large cot and the sun's light was filtering through my eyelids. My legs were in an odd position, crushed beneath me, knees crooked. It was an uncomfortable place but I didn't mind. I fluttered my eyes open to find the same dryad hovering over me. I tried to get up; I never liked to be weak. But the dryad held me down, assuring me that I was alright. With the growing pain in my torso, I didn't know if I could agree with her. She fed me a bitter liquid and it wasn't long before I was asleep again.

When I woke for the sixth time, I heard whispers. Concerned and choked. "Will he make it?" That was Peter's voice.

"But he has to!" the younger Queen's voice cried. "I could give him my cordial! Peter, please!"

After seconds of silence, I saw the High King's shadow behind the flaps of my tent nod decisively. And the two sovereigns entered. I could not see Peter's look of relief for Queen Lucy had just jumped onto the narrow space left on the cot. I was surprised when she embraced me. As a soldier, I had not been taught to be affectionate.

"Oh, praise Aslan! Thank you! Thank you for coming back, Orieus!"

Peter only silently nodded at me. I could read his eyes. Thank you.

King Peter had told me his brother and sister had led the battalion to finish off the rest of Amastius' men. He had told me all that had happened in the battle. King Edmund had journeyed swiftly. And it was because of him that we won. The Queens had formed an infantry at the foot of the Western Mountains—they had refused to leave after they heard that their brothers were losing the battle. And that was where I was resting. When I finally found strength enough, I lifted my sore body of the large cot. And walked out of the tent.

Peter found me first, conversing with the Captain. "Orieus! You should be resting. Please!"

But I merely laughed. "I am fine, High King. I haven't even the need to wear my bandages."

Peter gasped, glancing at my bare chest. "Orieus, but your wound—"

"—has healed."

Peter conceded with a sigh. "You shouldn't have taken the blow for me, General. You almost lost your life," Peter said with guilt.

"I would have died gladly. For my King," I said, smiling.

Peter breathed out heavily. "If you had died, Orieus, we would have been lost. Thank you. Thank you for holding on." He smiled. "Then tonight, we shall celebrate our triumph over Amastius. And your recovery."

He gave me a quick, awkward hug before sprinting off to the infirmary where his sister was.

I smiled as I watched him go.

Die a soldier's death, my father had taught me so many years ago.

He had taught me how to die.

I was only now learning how to live.

Fin

Author's note: I was very nervous about writing from Orieus' perspective, but it was easier than I thought. He has a noble spirit, and though not relatable to me, I could see in him so many more characters. And as I dug into his past, it only got easier. Until I had completely dissolved into the story.

For BrokenKestral who asked for Orieus whump! I hope you liked it! :-)

And I kept my promise of updating twice today!

With love,

~Pacifia

Chapter 18: Whumptober

Okay, so these are the prompts I haven't written for yet. Since October is near to its end, and its probably impossible to write that many one-shots, I present you with really small drabbles based on each prompt. If you find one missing, its because I have an idea in mind. And I might write about it.

Some humour. Some angst. Some wonder. Hope you like it.

OOOOO

No 3. My Way Or The Highway
Manhandled

When the Sun rose, and the cell still remained swallowed by the utter dark, and the manacles tinkled with his weak movements, he wondered what the brutes had planned this time.

No. 7. I've Got You
Support | Carrying

It would be hard, she knew. Sleepless nights. Weary at work. Eyes always drooping. But even though she was exhausted, she never regretted being there for her friend when everyone had left her.

No 9. For The Greater Good
"Take Me Instead" | "Run!" | Ritual Sacrifice

Peter's heart broke every time he caught Ed's narrowed gaze thrown at him. The disappointed look. The head-shake. The silent treatment. The tears that conveyed everything. But still, as his brother tended to his wounds, he couldn't bring himself to tell him he'd have died if the Giants had taken his little brother instead.

No. 11. Psych 101
Struggling | Crying

Her brain was prickling as if needles had been stuck into it. Her nose was red. Her face wrinkling already. Hair grey. But how else was she to cope with the loss if not by denial and tears?

No 12. I Think I've Broken Something
Broken Trust

A cloud of grimness, cruelty, and cold had enveloped him. Now, fingers blue and numb, nose runny, throat dry and itchy, aching for water, Edmund could not pay himself any heed. Just wonder how he would regain his siblings' trust.

No. 13. Breathe In Breathe Out
Delayed Drowning

It wasn't until Edmund felt Peter's arms wrap around his waist that he could feel warm again. The icy water was penetrating through him, his eyes burned from being under the cold water for too long, his lips were frosty and blue. His head bobbed out of the water and agonised gasps escaped his throat. But air didn't reach his lungs. The sun glared down at him. The tree hovering above was swaying as the chilly went swept by. His bleary vision barely allowed him to see Peter. Screaming. Telling him to breathe. But he couldn't. His chest was constricted. As if shut. Closed. No space for air. He'd breathed in water. Even as he coughed out some of it, his lungs ached and ached. But no air would reach them. He'd decided to give up. But Peter's slap broke him out of his daze. His brother's words echoed in his ears as he kept struggling, daring not to give up. His muscles twitched. His crushed chest seemed to open. As wind finally rushed in. And his panting breaths evened. And he was breathing again. He wasn't certain, but he thought Peter called him a sodding idiot. And then wrapped in his brother's arms, Edmund knew he had never felt safer.

No 14. Is Something Burning?
Fire

Lucy stepped into the baking section of the Kitchens and then immediately skittered back, barely avoiding to further squash a rotten pie. She covered her nose when she smelled smoke. And staring at the two coal-covered faces, blowing more smoke out of their mouths, she couldn't help but laugh.

"Don't. Tell. Susan."

No 15. Into The Unknown
Magical Healing

Lucy ran her fingers over the initials she'd carved on the little diamond bottle fifteen years ago. She opened the vial. And let a drop fall into her eldest brother's mouth, praying simultaneously. And as his skin sewed together once again, and the wound where the Giant had struck him with his club vanished, she wondered if it was the cordial or the prayer that healed him.

No 16. A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
Forced to Beg

"You'll give me the cure?"

The sneer gave me my answer.

"Then…I beg you."

Kneeling before evil shattered me into a million pieces.

No 17. I Did Not See That Coming
Wrongfully Accused

If his eyes were blurry, he blamed that on the lack of sleep. If his wrists hurt, he could say he'd tripped. But the bruises and cuts the manacles had left on them? The black eye his brother had given him? The bleeding lower lip? He never dared to meet the High King's eyes. Afraid of what he'd find in them. He simply knelt before him, feeling cold even with the fire alit in the hearth. His brother's chambers were more familiar than his own. Yet the room felt cold. The guards were dismissed. He bowed his head, his manacled hands dropping in front of him. He was prepared to hear his punishment. What awaited him tomorrow at the trial. But when he was gently lifted off the ground, he furrowed his brows, confused. His brother's teary face made him frown and he was enveloped into a fierce hug.

"I'm so sorry."

No 18. Panic! At The Disco
Panic Attacks

Peter turned as Edmund leaped between the werewolf and him. He still managed to remain calm. And as Edmund fought off the creature, Peter dashed through the trees, still calm. But when the wolf dug its teeth into Ed's shoulder, tearing apart the tendons and skin, Sheer Panic engulfed him.

No 19. Broken Hearts
Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor's Guilt

She'd survived.

And it was the worst punishment.

No 25. I Think I'll Just Collapse Right Here, Thanks
Disorientation

One step at a time, he told himself. But he swayed on his feet, stumbling like a drunkard. Was it the concussion? It was probably the concussion. A figure draped in blue was growing bigger and bigger every second. Oh, wait. It was moving. A cloak was flapping behind it. And where had he seen that golden head before?

"Ed, are you alright?"

Edmund blinked at the hazy figure in front of him.

"Ed?"

Could he maybe walk? He stumbled again. Severely this time. So, nope.

"Edmund!"

And the High King made a dive for his brother when he collapsed.

No 27. Ok, Who Had Natural Disasters On Their 2020 Bingo Card?
Extreme Weather

"Lucy!" Susan bellowed once more. The storm was too bad. And Susan didn't doubt it would soon become a hailstorm. And yet her sister was not in bed, but wandering the halls of Cair alone in the dark.

"Lucy!"

"Susan!"

Susan raced in the direction of the voice. It took her to the Northern Courtyard. The rain lashed down at her, and she shielded her eyes against the wind, squinting in the dark. "Lucy?"

Lucy gulped, blinking as the raindrops dripped down from her lashes. "It was a snail, Susan! It needed help; I saw it from my room!"

She only shook her head as a tacit gesture.

No 28. Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops.
Accidents | Hunting Season (1)

Peter watched in wonder as the mist receded, the fog vanished, and the mysterious blue, glowing lady greeted them all with a bow. Her beauty left him in awe; his mouth fell open. Her frosty white skin glowed with a blue shine, her oceanic eyes staring at him.

"What is it that you desire, my Kings and Queens?"

None spoke a word.

OOOOO

(1) BrokenKestral's review on Moments in Narnia made me write this. If you can guess what is actually happening, review or PM me. I can't promise you a cookie but maybe a sneak peek at my unpublished stories? Don't read her review; that would be cheating. :-)

Response to P: I think boredom is lethal when you're sick. I almost fainted trying to get out of bed with the extreme fever. I'm glad you could relate. And I'll still take character whump ideas if you have thought of any! They don't necessarily have to be from CoN, but maybe from a fandom I'm familiar with? Context always makes writing easier. Cheers!

Chapter 19: Blindfolded

No. 20. Toto, I Have A Feeling We're Not In Kansas Anymore
Lost

"We're lost, Peter."

Peter stuck to his stubborn excuse, "We just have to go east. We're not lost. It's Narnia. How can we be lost?"

Edmund raised his brows, his lower lips covering the upper one, shaking his head. At the amplified gesture, Peter rolled his eyes. But Edmund decided not to leave the matter alone, but further exhibit his derogatory behaviour. "So, Peter, then tell me, where are we?"

"The Shuddering Wood, of course," Peter replied, bringing out his hand from his cloak to brush off some of the deposited frosts from his hair. His palm began stinging and he shivered, hugging himself tighter, draping the cloak over himself. Edmund's huff was lost in the howl of the wind. And the brothers halted, realizing the weather was getting worse. The grey-black clouds had shrouded the sky; the blue had faded in a darker colour. And just as Edmund cursed, the first of the snow floated down. Peter sighed in defeat. "Alright. We're lost."

"But I thought—"

"Shut up, Ed," Peter retorted before Edmund could finish his comment. "What do we do?"

"Make camp, of course," Edmund replied, rubbing his hands, staring at the crowns of the tall trees which was already white. "The storm could kill us."

"Would that be the worst?"

Edmund shrugged casually. "Do you think we'll find a cave around here? If not…"

"We should gather some firewood before anything else," Peter suggested. Though his tone was more commanding.

"Like you'll be able to keep a fire burning when it's snowing."

"Ed."

"Peter."

Peter raised his hands and then let them fall to his sides. Exasperated, he scoffed. "You tell me then, what should we do?" Peter asked, conscious that the storm was only minutes away from sweeping them off their feet. And then let them join the whirling winds. "Do you think some of the trees could provide shelter?" he asked, stepping ahead, his feet digging deep into the snow.

As Peter continued to walk ahead, Edmund sulkily crossed his arms and frowned. But then his eyes widened, staring at the white ground. "Peter, don't—"

But Peter's foot had already set off the trap. The looped rope tightened around his foot and as he was mercilessly hoisted off the ground, his head bumped once into a large rock, making him see pinkish stars. And when the spinning world came to a stop, he fluttered his bleary eyes open. The trees' trunks were extending into the white sky, and the shallow green of the leaves brushing past the grey ground. Wait. That couldn't be right. And then he felt warm hands on his face, bringing the swaying to a stop. He blinked thrice until the figure sharpened. And he saw an upside-down face. Something was very disturbing about the sight and he tried not to puke.

"Peter! Look at me!" But Peter was looking at him. And that seemed to be the seed of the problem. "I'm going to get you out, alright?" And his brother stepped back, taking away the horrendous sight of a grinning red mouth and lashes that seemed to be questioning him. "Do you have a dagger?" Peter didn't understand. And when the strong winds blew, he was swaying again. His foot hurt. So did his head. "Peter?" The same warm hands came back, cupping his face. "Don't you dare go to sleep! You great lummox! This is not the time to…"

His eyes drooped close.

And the storm hit. (1)

No. 24. You're Not Making Any Sense
Blindfolded (2)

Peter tried to concentrate. Really, he did. But the ringing ears and the blindfold were making the task considerably harder. He flicked his wrists. But they'd been tied firmly to…something. And he suddenly realized he was lying down on something soft, his legs were stretched out, both feet tied. Peter grunted, thrashing. But his bonds refused to let him go free. He breathed out heavily. He'd have to deduce where he was from what he knew. The constant rocking made it evident that he was on a boat. The soft mattress beneath him? A bed? Then he was on a ship. And the ship's luxury cabin. That would also explain why it was so quiet here. He bit down on his lower lip. He tried to listen; no sound came. Then something smashed. Smashed closed. A door. Peter's eyes blinked from beneath the dark cloth. He heard sandals click on the wooden floor. And then came the familiar voice that told him exactly where he was, exactly what had happened, and exactly where he was going.

"This'll help you sleep," the soft voice cooed. And he felt the damp cloth cover his nose and mouth again. He held his breath. Minutes ticked by but the hand had the cloth still firmly placed on his mouth. He sucked in a sharp gasp and gagged to smell the drug. And as his eyes once again swept close, his lips felt the feather-light touch of hers. "I'm going to ask for your royal tunic to be tailored. We're almost there, love."

They docked at Galma the next morning.

OOOOO

(1) Yes, I did leave you at that.

(2) Well, just a sneak peek at what I have planned for the story that 23LucyGrace and Cherry2506 asked for. In Younger, I wrote, "And in fact, she did take Peter with her to Galma against his will. But that is a story for another time. For our present story is ended."

Response to P: Wow. Okay, the wild guess is absolutely correct. And you deserve a cookie. But I can't give you that. So, what prize do you claim?