Follow the Light: Part II

As soon as Peter left, Edmund whistled, signalling Chirp to come to him. He needed to see how Dracus was doing. But then Edmund's eyes wavered to the crowd and he saw Peter eating. Eating? On the night of a murder? Edmund shook his head in disappointment and told Chirp to carry a message to his older brother. Adding an extra, unnecessary comment. Because he deserved it. Then the blue-jay flew away, looking a little uncertain about the message. Edmund, who was pleased with himself, shut his eyes, leaning back on his throne. Thinking.

Gale the seventh King of Narnia conquered it in the light of the moon. It made no sense. Why talk about the conquering of the Lone Islands in so much detail if there isn't any code? But there was. Edmund just couldn't see it yet. He rubbed his temples. Leaving those who were innocent, and killing those who resisted. Who resisted? Meaning enemies? Meaning King Lune? No. He already knew that. Let the light guide you, too, my Lord. Now, this, this was clearly a message. Let the light guide you. But which light? The light of the moon. Edmund smacked his head. It was obvious, wasn't it? They'd use the moon as a signal. However—

Edmund glanced out the large Northern balcony. The glass doors were open, but no moonlight spilt in. Because the sky was cloudy. Dark and shrouded. The moon was hidden, unable to serve as a guide. And they couldn't control the moon, use its light as they wished. And seeing how thick of a blanket the clouds had formed, Edmund doubted the moon would show itself at all today. Edmund sighed. Back to square one, did the books say? Light. Light. Light. It would be a light signalling the assassin. But Orieus hadn't found him yet. Was he here? Among the guests? Or was he hiding somewhere, waiting for the signal, waiting to release an arrow, and orphan poor Corin. No, no, he couldn't let that happen. Think! Edmund breathed in and breathed out and—

Opened his eyes to see Barrin leave silently through the doors. Edmund was already on his feet, shoving past the duchess who'd come to ask him for a dance. Oh, couldn't these ladies leave him alone? He wasn't Peter! He felt sheepish for not apologising for his rude behaviour. But he had to follow Barrin. He held all the answers. He would solve the mystery. But just then, the wind soughed past him, making him shiver, making his skin crawl in fear, because he could sense it. Sense the clouds floating away with the wind. He took some trembling breaths and glanced at the balcony. Silvery moonlight brushed past the gates, sweeping through the crowd, towards the southern dais. The assassin had his signal. But how? How did they—

Edmund had no time. He searched the crowd. Someone with a weapon. Someone with a malicious intent. Someone with murder shining through his eyes. But the loud laughter was dizzying him. The babbles. The stupid chatters. The meaningless gossips. That was all he could hear. The walls were spinning. He couldn't focus. There was no time! He could hear Peter scream his name. He knew, too. Oh, Aslan, he had failed!

"King Edmund!"

But Edmund couldn't look up, he buried his face in his hands, hiding from the screams that he knew would come in a moment.

"King Edmund, please! There's a man on the eastern balcony and he's—"

Edmund's head snapped up. "What did you say, Chirp?" he asked the flying bird.

"A man on the eastern balcony. He has a bow, Majesty. And he doesn't look like a good man. Not like you or King Peter. Please, King Edmund, what must I—"

Chirp's words were cut off as time slowed. Edmund gazed around and found the sneering assassin without much effort. He had an arrow hooked in the string, adjusting the bow, and his grip on. His fingers curled around the wood. And then Edmund looked behind him. King Lune, still surrounded by the cheetahs and leopards and one centaur. Idiot! They hadn't formed a guard around him. The arrow would pierce through him, gone so swiftly that none could even notice. Edmund's mind had worked fast. It eliminated the options that weren't possible solutions and reached the inevitable conclusion. One no one would be pleased with. But it was the best option. The only choice. Edmund turned back to the bird, whose words were now becoming coherent again.

"What must I do, King Edmund? Tell me!"

"Tell Peter that I'm sorry."

"But why?"

"Because I'm probably about to die."

"But—"

"Edmund!"

Edmund's breath caught in his lungs. No. He turned. It was her, waving at him, a smile gracing her beautiful lips. A tear slipped out of his eye. And he sprinted away, towards King Lune. He did not notice that Briella was running after him.

And an arrow was released.

Peter took hesitant steps up the stairs. The step creaked. And he stopped, holding his breath. Why was he so nervous? It was his room, too, after all. He released a long breath and began ascending up the stairs again. With each step, his heart raced faster. But he let the light from the window calm him, lead him, guide him. And he kept going. More trembling breaths. But it was just a simple question! And when finally, he reached the door, he was sure his heart would burst any moment. He turned the knob, his hands shaking. The door opened. And there his brother was, sprawled across Peter's bed, lying on his stomach, chin propped up on palms, legs up and kicking. He seemed oblivious to his presence. Or so Peter thought.

"Whatever it is, Peter, you can tell me. Or rather, ask me."

Peter could only blink at his five-year-old brother at first. He was five! Not a stupid grown-up. Then why did he act like one? He rubbed his arm, both because it was cold and because he was extremely flustered by this prospect. Edmund still hadn't bothered to look up at him. He was dissolved at that detective book. Peter's book. And he was wearing Peter's old shirt and swinging Peter's pencil in hand. Peter glanced at Edmund's bed. Why was his brother on his bed? Why did he always have to take his things? Peter gulped and sat down beside his brother, clasping his hands together. Edmund still wouldn't look up at him. Now, Peter was frustrated.

"Can't you even bother to look up just once, you little brat?"

Oh, no. It wasn't supposed to come out that way. Now Ed would tell his father he'd said that. And then—

"I'm sorry, Peter. You were saying?" Edmund's voice said. And Peter looked at him; he was sitting upright, back extremely straight, and a wide smile tugging at his lips. He hadn't been offended. And he wouldn't tell Dad. His eyes told him that.

"I…I wanted to know…why you always take my things," Peter managed to stutter out. "Dad told me to ask, so…"

"He told you to ask today?"

How did he know? "No, two years ago. But you could hardly speak your name then. So…"

"But you did ask me then. And I answered."

Peter could only gape.

"Edmund, you need to talk about this. I know what she meant to you. Please—"

"Don't speak. Don't breathe. Don't think. Just listen," Edmund suddenly said, yanking him forward by his wrist. His brother forced him against the wall, both on either side of the closed door. They pressed their ears to the rough wall, listening. But it was absolutely silent. Not a voice. Not a breath. Peter suddenly realized he was holding his. He took a deep breath and glanced back at his brother.

"Edmund?" Peter whispered.

"Let's go," Edmund said, turning the knob.

"Wh—"

But they were already inside. Peter looked up, surprised to find Barrin waiting for them. He was sliding his ring back and forth on his middle finger, never looking up, seated on the bed. On Edmund's bed. Peter glanced around. They were in his brother's chambers. The walls that were more familiar than his own room's seemed eerie now, bearing long shadows of the flapping curtains. Peter's hand went to Rhindon's hilt, ready to unsheathe it. But Edmund shook his head.

"Ah, clever. Tell me, King Edmund, do you know yet? Have you…figured it out?" the Lord said, pulling out a greyish book. Edmund's book. "Interesting phrases they use. You've written them yourself, haven't you? Drawing from memory. I've heard rumors you're not from this world, the four of you."

"You have failed, Lord Barrin. King Lune is alive. Orieus has locked all gates. You cannot escape. Surrender," Peter said.

"Peter, don't," Edmund warned him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Peter frowned. What did his brother know that he didn't? "So, where is it? The cure?"

The cure?

"Very clever, aren't you?" the Lord said, swinging the book in hand. Then he threw it into the fire. Peter's nails dug deep into his hand. "Oh, what a loss," he said, looking at the burning book. "You'll have to write it again now."

"Tell me where it is. Please." That desperate voice. Peter knew that voice. Shattered and cracking with tears his brother refused to show. He was breaking inside. "Please. I'll do anything."

"Edmund?" Peter said, wiping his brother's cheek. "Ed, please, tell me what—"

"Oh, your brother hasn't told you, High King? You do not share his intellect, do you? You haven't figured it out," Barrin said, sliding his ring again. "Let me put it simply, King Peter: You are dying."

The words caught Peter off guard. He blinked. "That's ridicu—"

"Please!" Edmund yelled. "Please, I beg you. Whatever you want, you can have it. Just give it to me."

"Edmund, this is absolutely ridiculous! I'm not dying! I'm—"

"Peter!" Edmund screamed, catching his brother's body before he could fall to the ground. He laid his gasping brother onto the ground, stroking his cheek, getting him to calm down. "Hush. It's okay. Just focus on my voice, Peter. I know. I know it hurts. But please. Please just hold on."

But Peter couldn't breathe! His chest hurt. Everything was hazed. Blurry figures hovering near. Black spots. He couldn't…he couldn't breathe.

"Peter!" Edmund cried, scooping up Peter's trembling form, holding his convulsing body close to himself, crushing his gasping figure, trying his hardest to ignore the blood in his mouth. "Peter, hold on! Please!"

"Do you understand now? What I felt when I heard my brother had drowned?" Barrin asked him, circling the brothers, giving them an amused smile. "I died when my brother died, King Edmund. I lived for revenge. And you. You took it from me!" he growled, kicking Peter.

"No!" Edmund said, gathering Peter in his lap, shielding his body from the Lord.

"You know, don't you? You know I knew. And you know. Oh, you know it was a trick. One you were too late to understand."

"Please…" Edmund begged, his heart breaking to see Peter jerk upwards and then slump down again, eyes drooping, blood still splattering out. "Please. Pease!" Edmund screamed when Peter convulsed again, struggling to breathe.

"Why should I?"

"Because…because…" Edmund laughed, holding Peter closer.

"You've lost your mind, boy," Barrin said, wrinkling his brows at the laughing King.

"Because, Lord Barrin, you made a terrible mistake."

"And what's that?"

"You left the door open."

Peter swallowed, and sat down beside his brother. He feigned a smile and said, "Ed, I wanted to talk to you." The three-year-old (hardly) looked up from his drawing book. He put aside his crayons and smiled an innocent smile, tilting his head. "Why did…why did you take my book?"

Edmund said what Peter assumed was the only thing he had yet learned to say, "I love ya, Petah."

"Hurry!" Edmund growled, shushing his brother's trembling form. "Dracus, hurry!"

But unknown to Edmund, Dracus was going as fast as he could, searching every pocket, going through even the dying man's boots. But he couldn't find the cure. He swallowed, running his hands through his hair, falling to his knees. "It's not here, Edmund. It's not—"

"His ring!" Edmund said, getting Peter to lie back down again. "It's in his ring!" Peter convulsed again, sucking in air. "That's good, Peter. Just breathe. Breathe. His ring!" Edmund said again, brushing back Peter's damp hair. Dracus furrowed his brows, uncertain. But Edmund didn't bother saying anything more. He just began cradling Peter's now limp body. Dracus pulled the ring off the Lord's finger, only to have his wrist seized by his weak hand. Even with the pain, even with an arrow in his chest, even with the pool of blood on the bed, Barrin's words were clear. And Edmund heard them. Oh, he heard them.

"One last trick."

And he died. Laughing ominously, he died. Dracus spared one second to glance at the man and then dashed to where the brothers were. Dracus passed the ring to Edmund, unable to understand how it could have the cure. A red ruby in the middle, and a plain golden band. It was ordinary. But as soon as Edmund had the ring, he popped the Ruby right off the band. It was hollow. And the space it was hiding beneath barely had three drops of the red salvation. Edmund looked up, eyes seeming like melting chocolate, filled with so many tears. "Get my sisters. Now."

And Dracus made another dash to the Great Hall where the Queens were trying to bring balance to the party. Not so much a party now, though. Edmund turned to his brother who'd stopped breathing now. He gave his cheek a loving stroke, resting his forehead on his. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Peter." And he poured the liquid into his blood-filled mouth. He threw the ring into the fire and pulled his brother close to his chest, settling against the foot of the armchair. This hurt. It hurt so much. "You'll forgive me, won't you? Please tell me you'll forgive me," Edmund begged, crying into Peter's shoulder. His heart rejoiced when Peter started breathing again when the warm blood receded down his throat. But his mind—his mind was wiser, refusing to let him have even a second of the false joy. It hurt so much. He coughed, tasting the copper. It really hurt. He smiled at his brother when he opened his eyes, his blue eyes still cloudy and dazed, but relieved.

And when he heard their sisters scream Peter's name, he closed his eyes.

"I love you, Peter. That was my answer. It's still my answer."

Peter only stared at his brother. Five? Hardly. He looked wiser than Dad right now. And no one was wiser than Dad. "I don't understand what you mean though."

"Don't you?"

"Ed?" Peter asked when Edmund shut his eyes, head lolling to the cushion of the armchair. Peter sat up, shaking his brother gently, ignoring his sisters who were asking him if he was alright. "Edmund!" he cried when his brother coughed out blood and convulsed. "Ed!" He took his face in his hands, the warm blood filling his palm. "Give him the cordial! Now, Lucy!"

And Lucy had already uncorked the small bottle; she poured a drop into his mouth. And they waited. For seconds, they waited. Susan was sobbing, Dracus holding Lucy as she, too, cried. But Peter kept his eyes fixed on Edmund. He would wake. He just had to. Peter stopped breathing when Edmund opened his eyes. Their sisters were already by his side, clinging to him. Edmund would get a week of fussing now. But his eyes—his eyes still showed pain. Something was wrong. "Ed?" he asked, forehead wrinkling. Edmund blinked and coughed more blood. No, we saved him! Edmund gasped, trying to find his voice. Peter took his hands, clasping them with his own. Edmund gulped, still not having the strength to say anything.

"The light. Follow the light."

And he went still again, hands going limp in Peter's. "Edmund!" he cried, shaking his brother's shoulder. "Wake up! What do you mean?" Peter stood up, letting his sisters sandwich Edmund between them. He began pacing the room, the Narnians formed a circle around him. He turned to Dracus. "What happened with the Lord? Who was he?" He had to start somewhere.

"Lord Lar."

"Lord—Lord Lar? That's impossible. I've seen him. He—"

"He's getting old, Peter. He said he didn't want to do it. But they'd taken his daughter. Threatened to kill her if he didn't cooperate," Dracus told him, voice quavering, eyes refusing to turn to his dying King.

"And what exactly did he do?" Peter asked, swallowing a lump.

"He was the one that poisoned you."

"I still don't understand, Ed."

"Think deep."

"Poisoned—poisoned me? Of course! Ed knew. But how? It doesn't matter. Doesn't matter! Think. Think! Oh, Aslan, please." Peter ran his hands through his hair. His crown fell, Dracus caught it.

"Peter, please!" Susan cried, holding Edmund tightly, sobbing to see him convulse again.

"Don't speak! No one speak!" Peter growled, pacing the room, going back and forth. Back and forth. What was he missing? Lar poisoned him on Barrin's orders. But Edmund—Edmund had been poisoned as well. He turned to Dracus again. "Was I like that? Was it killing me, too?"

"Exactly like that," Dracus said, his throat closing up.

"So, the same poison. Why only one cure? There's never just one. It—"

"Peter?" Dracus asked when Peter's mouth fell open, understanding beginning to dawn on him. "Peter!"

"Edmund, please. Peter, he's not breathing!" Lucy's voice cried. But Peter grabbed Dracus' shoulders, squeezing them, giving him his trust.

"You keep him breathing. Do you understand? Keep him alive until I return."

"But where are you going?" Dracus asked, falling beside Edmund who'd just sucked in another struggling breath. Peter was already at the door, giving Orieus some orders. He turned to his brother, giving Dracus a grim smile.

"I'm going to follow the light."

"Is that what the detectives say in your books? Think deep?"

"Sometimes. But I'm saying it now, Peter, think deep. Search your vaults."

"My vaults?"

"Well, where else do you store your memories?"

Dark hallways: a perfect escape route. But have you ever seen someone follow the darkness? It's the light they run after. Maybe it's a flicker. Or a flame. Or a fire. Sometimes it's the stars. Sometimes the sun. When you've lost sense of direction, what guides you? The sun in the east. And the rest of the puzzle solves itself. The west, south and north are apparent. But what if it's night? What if there is no sun? What, then, would give you a sense of direction? What would lead you? Take you through the foreign corridors, out of the castle, to the only unguarded exit? Oh, it's simple, isn't it? Peter found himself thinking the same, sprinting through the corridors, the creeping night sneering at him, the walls laughing, the flinging doors creaking, the wind whispering to the silent air. He ran as fast as he legs took him. As fast as his weakened body allowed him to go. The metallic door opened, ringing. The door to the tunnels.

Peter turned left and couldn't help but smile. "Precautions. That's clever, Lanin. Very clever."

"You take one more step and I drop this precious vial, High King. But—but if you let me go, if you disarm yourself, give me your word, it's yours. You wish to save your brother, don't you? I know you can't bear to lose him. Your eyes give you away. So, give me your word. A King's word. And I'll toss this to you," Lanin said, the bottle dangling in his fingers, swinging back and forth.

"You were always going get your share, weren't you?" Peter asked, slowly putting down his sword, conscious of the moon's light dulling. Follow the light until it shines. Two minutes. He had to distract him for two minutes. "You're the real villain."

"Hardly, Peter. It wasn't my idea to kill the Kings of Narnia instead. The fool thought if he couldn't kill Lune, he'd kill the ones that destroyed his plan."

"Oh, that's right. But you weren't pleased, were you? You wouldn't be the next King of Archenland then."

"You know. And here I was, thinking your brother was the cleverer of the two," Lanin said, tossing the bottle up in the air. Peter held his breath, and released it when Lanin caught it again. "Or did he have to give you a clue?" Peter grimaced. "He did, didn't he? Oh, poor High King would be entirely lost without his brother, wouldn't he?" He tossed the bottle again. "And I hold the only thing that could save him. And could save you. Your word, Peter."

Peter swallowed, seeing how the Lord was balancing the bottle on his knuckles. He forced himself to look up. "So, how were you going to do it? Poison everyone else in line? Wait till Prince Corin is old enough and then kill him, too? Are you really that heartless?"

"Oh, no, Peter. You see, when men are drunk, they do stupid things. Very stupid things. I've a piece of paper, you see. And that piece of paper determines who takes the throne after Lune dies. Can you guess whose name is on it?"

"How did you do it?"

"Wine. It was as simple as that. And some Sorontia to really ensure he didn't know what I was doing. You should probably go see he isn't squeaking like a child somewhere," Lanin said, looking extremely pleased with himself. "Enough of this. Your word, please, Peter."

"And the letter? You replaced it?" Peter asked, sparing a glance at the moon. Thirty seconds.

"Yes. Do you really think Barrin wouldn't notice that the envelope had been opened? The seal, Peter, it was wax. Sticks to the paper," Lanin replied, rolling the bottle between his palms. "And after that, of course, he couldn't risk being caught. We were informed your royal brother and that Knight—sturdy, that one—were researching in the library. For a square. Oh, we thought we weren't ruined after all. But then he sent that bird to Winding Arrow. But, the funny part is, Peter, that we never replaced the letter. We didn't need to. Sorry, I didn't need to."

"You knew we would catch him. You knew he was going to die. So, why drug Lune?"

"Something like that is always useful, Peter. Especially when you can't prove I'm guilty. Now, give me your word."

"You would kill Lune, follow the moon out of the castle, meet at the beach, and flee. That was your initial plan, wasn't it?" Peter said, smiling to see Lanin shift. "But then things changed. Lune wasn't to die. So, you made sure Barrin would. Are you the next in line for his estate, too? You are, aren't you?" Peter looked out the window again. Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds. It was almost there. "And the cherry on top. The Kings of Narnia dead. Poisoned. But why did he give you the cure?"

"Because he was a fool! Now, enough! Give me your word!"

"And why the assassin? Why go through so much trouble? Just to see us dance as you directed? It's nice, isn't it? To have someone exactly where you want them, when you want them?"

"Your word, Peter! Or I drop this!" Lanin barked, his fingers holding the top of the bottle.

"Then drop it."

Lanin did.

"Were you always the bottlehead, Peter?"

"Bottlehead? What does that mean?"

"It means unobservant. A great lummox like you."

Peter just laughed. "I love you, too, Eddie. And I understand now."

When Edmund felt the sour liquid touch his lips, he almost didn't believe it. Peter had solved it. Oh, he was the proudest little brother in history. But there was something. Something pulling at him, calling him. Preventing him from breathing. Preventing his heart from beating. The familiar figure of death was hovering over him. And he was tempted to go with him this time.

They came in flashes. White, blinding flashes. And he was in a different place. Or rather, a different time.

Flash!

"He's dead. He's dead!" That was Susan's voice. "You were too late!" Edmund could hear her faint punches. Oh, he really wanted to open his eyes. Susan punching Peter was a rare sight. "You were too late!" Her heartbreaking sobs made Edmund frown inwardly.

"No!"

And, of course, Peter wouldn't accept it.

Flash!

"If you understand, then tell me. Why do I always take your things?" Edmund asked, continuing his drawing. The pencil was getting blunt.

"Because, Edmund," said Peter, tickling his little brother, "you wuv me!"

Flash!

"Come on, breathe! Breathe!" Peter was yelling in his face, pressing his hands onto his chest. One, two, three, Edmund counted in time with the compressions.

"Breathe, Edmund!" Peter screamed.

Flash!

"Say it, come on, Eddie, say it! You wuv me!"

"That's not what I said!" Edmund said between laughs, struggling against his brother who was still tickling him mercilessly. "Tell me. Tell me why I take your things!"

Flash!

"He's gone, Peter! Stop this nonsense!" That was Dracus. He seemed to be the only person making sense at the moment. Because Peter's punches really hurt. "He's your brother! Stop it!" If Edmund could breathe, he would've groaned when Peter punched him again.

"You will wake! You great dolt, I solved it! Wake up!"

"Peter, no!" both his sisters cried.

"Wake up!"

Flash!

Peter sat straight, hands curled in his lap, a sound smile on his face. He really knew. He understood. "Opened your vaults, eh?"

"Huh?"

"Oh, just tell me."

"Because Ed…"

Flash!

"Because I love him! He can't. He can't do this!"

"Peter!"

"No…" the broken voice whispered. And Edmund felt himself being picked up, strong hands under his shoulders and knees.

"Peter, where are you taking him?"

Flash!

"Because, Ed, it's your stupid way to show love."

Edmund smiled.

Flash!

Edmund wished he could smile, feeling the soft silk bedsheet of his brother's bed. Peter laid him down, settled his head on the pillow. "He'll wake."

Flash!

"You got it right, Peter. Now, what do you want me to do?"

"How do you know I want you to do something?"

"Your eyes give you away."

Flash!

Kisses. So many warm kisses on his face. His hands. He hated it when his siblings coddled him. But just this once, he let it happen. Because it wouldn't last long. Death was frowning.

Flash!

"I want you to follow the light, Ed."

Edmund scowled, crossing his arms. "And leave you?"

"No, come back to me."

Flash!

"Peter?"

"He'll wake."

"Peter—"

"He'll wake!"

Flash!

"Go on!" Peter said, shoving his little brother down the small hallway. It was silver. The flicker of light was silver. Like moonlight. Edmund looked back once.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Do you want me to keep crying?"

"But you're not crying."

"I am. Now go!"

And Edmund took trembling steps forward, daring not to look back at his brother, knowing he wouldn't be able to leave then. The dim corridor brightened as he approached the flicker. The flicker which was now a white flash. The flash now taking the shape of a door. He opened it. And he stepped through.

Death gave a bow. Defeated once again. Is anyone keeping count?

Flash!

Edmund took a sharp breath, jerking up from the bed. He blinked, trying to focus. His vision sharpened and he saw his sisters first. Both covering their mouths, their expressions showing utter disbelief. Then his eyes found Dracus, smiling through his tears, shaking his head, almost as if he'd anticipated this. And finally, Peter was—

"Oh!" Edmund exclaimed, sure that Peter had bruised his ribs with that brutal hug. But he smiled, kissing his brother's temple, whispering, "You know, you're cleverer than I thought." Peter didn't reply, only hid his face into Edmund's shoulder. Edmund smiled, extending his arm towards his sisters. They joined their brothers, and Edmund could hardly breathe, getting squished by three people. "So, how did you do it?" he asked Peter, desperate to lighten the mood. But Peter only squeezed him harder. "Oh, Peter. You really thought I'd left you, didn't you?"

"Just shut up and breathe. Just breathe," Peter said, voice so utterly shaken that Edmund wished he'd been angry with him rather than be this sentimental mess.

Susan and Lucy giggled, leaving the embrace. "I don't think he'll let go of you any time soon. Edmund, we…uh..."

"Susan, that can wait, come on," Lucy said, dragging her sister out. "Where are you going, Dracus?"

"To see Lanin," Silverblade replied, disappearing out of the room.

"But, seriously, Pete. How did you do it?"

"I followed the light like you told me to. Followed it till it shone. And then I let the darkness lead me."

His fingers left the bottle. And the clouds hid the moon. Rendered blind now—to last for only a few seconds*—Lanin rubbed his eyes, turning, flustered. Peter smiled and leapt forward. He caught the bottle—not a lucky catch. And was behind Lanin almost instantly. He struggled to his feet, still weak from the poison, and kicked Lanin in the shin, pleased to hear a crack.

"Ahhh!" he screamed, falling to the ground. Peter crouched beside him. He yanked his head up.

"Now, tell me, who was the assassin?"

"He didn't say, of course," Peter said, finally drawing apart. "I reckon Dracus is going to ask again."

Edmund nodded, his expression turning grim. He swallowed. "You punched me."

"What?"

"When you thought I was dead, why did you punch me?"

Peter shrugged. "Got you to wake up, didn't I?"

Two weeks later

"Have they found him yet?" Edmund asked, kissing the grey stone. He placed the flowers on the grave, their sweet scent making him breathe in.

"He fled to the southern border. We're still searching, Ed. We'll find him."

Edmund turned to his brother, and began walking back to the castle. "She saved me, you know. She saved my life."

"What do you mean? The arrow was meant to kill King Lune. It couldn't—Edmund, you didn't."

"I did," Edmund said, smiling at his brother. Peter shook his head. "But it wasn't meant for King Lune. It was meant for me."

"What? But why?"

"He didn't poison me, Peter. He didn't mean to. Remember the wine you gave me?"

Peter's face turned white. "No…Oh, Ed…"

"Not your fault! I didn't know either. But Barrin told me."

"You knew? And you still—you still gave the cure to me? Edmund—"

"My duty to protect you, remember? Just let it go. Please."

They walked in silence for some time. Until another question crawled its way into Peter's mind. "How did Dracus find us?"

Edmund smiled. "You see, Peter, we have a code…"

"Ed!"

"Alright, sorry. I told Chirp to follow us. When he saw us in danger, he flew to Dracus."

"Right. And Edmund?" Edmund arched his brows. "Have you written it yet? Your book?"

"You want to read it?"

"Definitely."

OOOO

*You all probably knew this already, but the pupils take time time to adjust to the light's intensity. So, after a few seconds, Lanin would be able to see in the dark, too.

Author's note: Tell me what you think in the reviews! And if there are any plot holes! I have a feeling there might be plot holes.

Response to P: Since I've been sick, as has been my entire family, I didn't get a party. But it was just nice to spend some time with my family. Thank you for your present! I'm sorry I can't give you a cookie!