Epilogue

Peter sat there, waiting for the Vri to come again, and take him. He sat there as the moon slowly dissolved into the western, gloaming sky, and a touch of pink hue shone through the divine window above. He sat there in his grief, feeling the utter loss, until—until what? He'd lost his brother, he killed his brother's dearest friend, and he had two options left: Cry or scream.

He chose the latter.

The touch comes first when he groans. The soft, feathery stroke on his forehead, cold and warm at the same time, giving him peace. And when his lips and tongue burn and itch for water and he licks his lips once, the touch comes back, along with a metallic, hard touch on his lips. He takes a sip. Not water; it's bitter. Then he sleeps once more. When his eyes open and then instantly the lids shut again in the brightest light of the sun, the same touch helps him drift off again.

And when, days later or only hours, the light has dimmed, and a fire is alit in the marble hearth that he so heartily recognizes, his lashes flap open. He's staring at the white, carved with delicacy, ceiling. His head hurts to stare at it that long, but he can't look away, for it tells him he is safe. In his home, his wonderful, wonderful home, filled with light and warmth. The touch on his forehead comes back and he snaps his head to his side, temple digging into the pillow, to see Lucy. And the flood of memories, of haunting memories, swallow him. The blood-filled mouth of his brother, the wriggling claws, the torn skin, the broken bones, the reptile-like hand. He screams.

He screams harder than he thinks he should've been able to with his aching throat, and covers his ears with his hands, flinching away—away from the terror, from the Vri! The Vri!

"Peter!" someone distantly echoes, but he can only hear their clicking. The horrible sounds. Ka-ka-ka-ka-ka, they sing. The Vri had taken his brother! "Peter!" He continues to scream, still flinching away from the shouting voice. It's familiar, but he doesn't recognize it. The hollow sound of the constant clatter envelopes him again. He feels his arms being pinned down, mercilessly throwing him onto the bed, as he continues his screaming, sobbing, twisting against the hands of his captors. They were going to take him! The Vri! But then he eased, remembering his wish to die, feeling his wish to die. He allows himself to die. But the sharp pain is not in his chest where the Vris must have plunged its hand, but in his arm. He winces in the sharp pain.

Then the noises subsided when his sister's voice echoed through the room again. His bleary, tired eyes are slowly drooping close. Everything has slowed; his sister's figure slowly—very slowly—moves towards him, shifting to her sides, hovering above like a phantom. Then he feels the cool touch on his forehead again. He relaxes. His sister gathers him in her arms, lifting him halfway up from the bed. And whispers to him, "You were hurt, Peter. You'd been—"

"Eddie," is the only word he has the strength to say, the will and need to say.

"You are fine now, Peter," she cooes, "they won't hurt you anymore."

Peter sobs. "Ed."

"Just sleep. Sleep and we can talk about it in the morning. We'll talk."

It's Susan that's holding him this time when he wakes. Peter's weeping into her shoulder again, somehow he'd withheld his screams. The sharp pain in his arm comes back. He lets out a small squeak and Susan shushes him. "Just sleep. Tomorrow, we'll talk."

The Vris' hundreds of teeth, pointed and razor-like, protrude out of its mouth, the split, serpent-like tongue slips out. And it lunges at his brother.

"Edmund!" he screams, curling into the corner, hands pressed hard enough onto his ears to hurt his skull. "Edmund!" he screams more loudly. "Edmund!"

"Peter!" a feminine voice shrieks, growing closer with the echoing steps, but it's all lost in the clicking sound. "Peter, no! You'll hurt yourself!"

He doesn't open his eyes, but he knows, he feels his fingers curled around the metal. He's armed. He has a knife. He has the chance to end it. He can end it! Not the Vri! It would be him! He won't allow the Vri to kill him, too!

"PETER, NO!"

His hands stop abruptly. The knife hovers over his heart, shaking with his hands. He takes some shuddering breaths, and then opens his eyes. "Peter, please, just give it to me, okay? No one's going to hurt you. I promise. Just hand the knife to me. Come on, yes, slowly, there."

And the knife is taken from his trembling hands. He lets it go. He blinks.

The knife is thrown away, out of his reach. The servants flinch once, and then go still. Warm hands cup his face, go over his heart, then steady his body, then back to his face again. Peter doesn't understand. He's taken into a hug. A hug he'd longed for days.

"No one will hurt you, okay?"

And then he's lifted up, two strong arms supporting him. He's made to sit on the bed, his heavy robe is taken off, given to his valet.

"How do you feel?"

Peter only blinks. He doesn't understand!

"Why—why were you trying to—"

This he can answer. "Because I can't let them take me, too. I can't let the Vri—"

"The Vri? Peter—"

"The hideous things. They click. It killed you."

Edmund blinks, as if a new understanding has just dawned on him. "Hush, Peter, I'm fine. I'm alive," Edmund assures and gathers him in his arms again, letting him bury his face into his chest. His chest. The Vris had—

He tries to tell him, but Edmund starts cradling him, telling him to sleep. Lucy's voice says something distantly, and then the lights dim, only the yellow-fiery light shines through the room. "No, no more sedatives," he hears Ed say.

And he falls asleep in his brother's arms.

No dreams haunt him this time.

Peter hovers above the sounds, listening to them as they echo distantly below him. He doesn't understand at first. But he does eventually.

"Oh, good mice, you can set up the new curtains some other time. Please, the scratch is rather irritating."

"Lucy, it's rude to slam the door shut. And have you brought some of the steak? I think he's hungry."

"Do you remember how he'd sit on the porch with Edmund in his arms, rocking him. And Mum would get angry because she'd worry he'd drop him." A laugh. "Oh, sorry, Lu. You weren't even born then!" A sigh. "I don't know if Ed will ever…"

"I swear I didn't know, Peter! Su and Dracus did. She was hiding in a closet, you see. You were crying, but she was fine. Please, please, know that he didn't mean any harm. Ed didn't mean any harm, Peter. Please. Oh, wake up and tell him! Tell him you forgive him!"

"Do you think it could be Jadis?"
"Nonsense!"

"You'll get better," he says, "please forgive me, brother. I don't know. I don't know how…"

"Oh, I know, Su! The spider!"

"It was the venom. Oh, thank you, Lu." Shallow steps. "You'll be fine now, Peter. Just fine. Call the healers!"

"Edmund, are you reading to him again?"
"Yes."
"Not horror stories!"
"But it's history! Ancient legend."
"You better get out, Ed."

"I'm praying. You'll join?"

"Not now, Dracus, I can't leave him."
"But the court requires your presence, King Edmund. You sisters sent me."
A sigh. And he took his brother from him again. Again!

"Brother. Brother, please. Brother!"

"For Lucy. For Lucy, wake up!"

And he did. "Edmund!"

~o~

Peter's eyes fly open, and he gasps. "Hey, hey! You're fine, Peter. I'm fine."

Peter stops struggling against the arms that are wrapped around him, and goes lax again, his erratic breathing now evening out. Peter gazes up at his brother, letting his head drop onto his arm. Ed smiles. "Edmund. Ed, the Vri—"

"No, no," he says, kissing Peter's hair. "They've been dead for centuries, Peter. Jadis brought them to life, made them from the soil, after the hundredth year of Narnia's creation. She thought her army could defeat the Narnians, but she wasn't nearly strong enough. The Tree of Protection still stood strong."

"But, I saw you…"

"Dream. All dreams."

"And you'd fallen from the stairs. The baby. You were…I couldn't…"

"Shh…It was the venom, Peter. Oh, Pete, I'm so sorry! I wanted to scare you. Remember Halloween?" Peter nods. "Well, you see, I had a Marshwiggle act as the ghost, and sing. The dark did the rest for me. You were crying when you thought we lost Susan. And then you fainted. Oh, Peter, we thought—"

"No, wait. Did I—did I hurt you?"

Edmund furrows his brows, gathering his brother up. "You threw me against the wall, yes. But you didn't hurt me. You could never hurt me." He kisses his forehead. "We brought you back to Cair. We thought you'd wake after you've had time to rest. I thought—I thought it was because of me that…But then the healers told us it's something different. They couldn't figure it out. Some in the court said it was Jadis' curse. The Calormenes said I'd poisoned you," he says with a soft chuckle.

Peter blinks. "Calormenes? In Narnia? When?"

Edmund gives his hair a stroke. "Peter, it's been a month."

It takes Peter's brain time to process that. A month? He'd been asleep for a month? "You'd wake up at times," Edmund adds. "Just long enough that we could get some food in you. We didn't think you knew where you were." Edmund visibly stifles a sob. Then he smiles. "Lucy was the one who figured it out. Ten days after you fainted. It was the spider, you see. It was venomous. The healers told us the poison causes hallucinations, paralyzes most of the victim's body, as it slowly kills them. If Lucy hadn't remembered, you'd be dead. It was because of her; we could find a cure. Dracus and I spent days in the library."

Peter gulps; he sits up, making Edmund shoot him a questioning look. He dismisses the thought from his mind, and says, shuddering at the memory, "Will you take off your shirt once, Ed?"

"What?"

"Please. I know it sounds odd. But I just, the Vris had—"

"Oh," Edmund says grimly. He takes off his tunic first, and then unbuttons his shirt, and lets it slide off slowly. Fooled, it reminds Peter. He shakes it off. "See? I'm fine," Edmund assures. Peter smiles at him, sliding his hand where the Vris' hand had been. He isn't hollow. The skin isn't torn and bloody. He's fine. It really was a dream. Edmund then quickly puts on his shirt again, shivering in the cold. He gets up to adjust the coal pieces in the hearth, and then sits on the bed again.

Peter gulps. "What happened then?"

Edmund smiles. "Dracus saved your life."

"I'm sorry?" Peter says blankly, horrified by the mere idea. After what he'd done—

"He took the venom for you," Edmund tells him. "It's not easy to get rid of it. The cure neutralized all the effects but the venom would continue killing you if it wasn't taken out, wasn't given a new host, another Son of Adam. I volunteered, of course. But our sisters told me I was mad if I thought they or you'd let me die. Then Dracus said he'd do it."

Peter, internally wincing at the thought, said, "But he's alive."

"Yes. There are many theories. I think he's immune. Susan says it was because of he was raised in the wild. And Lucy believes it to be Aslan's grace. Ultimately, that's true, doesn't matter how."

The coil in Peter's chest tightens, and he gasps. The guilt attacks him, roping around his heart, squeezing it until it stopped beating. Oh, Aslan. "Pete?"

"Aslan, please. Please forgive me."

"Peter, what—" Peter is already out of bed. "Peter! Peter, you're still weak!" Edmund shouts after him when he stumbles out of the room.

The corridor stretches as he walks barefoot on the soft carpet, wishing the walls would stop spinning. It all looks hazy, especially with the illustrations of the tapestries swimming around and laughing at him. But he stumbles on, limping, though he doesn't need to. The servants try to tell him to go back to his chambers, a faun carrying parcels drops them and rushes to his aid. But he dizzily assures him he's alright. He thinks he sees his sisters coming out of The Great Library, giggling, just as he rushes past the large doors. They confirm his thought, calling after him. But he urges on. Then he stops. Where even is he going? To find Dracus? What would he say to him? That he's sorry he murdered him in a dream? He doesn't know. But he still keeps going. After a while, he finds himself facing a curling flight of stairs, leading up to the fourth and the highest floor. He sighs and drops to the ground. The corridor is small, turned sharply from its neighbor. The two walls are closer than usual, and the carpet beneath him is rougher than he's used to it. Despite it all, he thinks he can fall asleep.

"High King Peter?"

Peter turns to the brown boy. Despite being only a year older than Peter, he looks much more mature. "Dracus." He stands up, swaying.

"You shouldn't out of bed yet."

"No. I—I wanted to thank you. For saving my life," he manages, clapping his friend's shoulder. Then he turns grim, the coil tightening. "And I wanted to apologize for…"

Dracus raises his eyebrows, putting the knife he was taking back to the kitchens on his sword belt. Peter swallows, the words refuse to leave his lips. "I'm sorry for acting the way I did. I was jealous." Dracus opens his mouth to speak, but he continues, "And I'm sorry for—for killing you."

"For what?" two voices echo. Peter smiles to see Edmund appear through the turn. He'd been secretly listening to them.

Peter licks his lips. "In my dream…" he trails off, takes a deep breath and continues, "…I killed Dracus. I…I fed him to the Vris to save us."

"Peter-!" Edmund and his sisters who appear through the turn as well say at once, startling him. But Dracus looks back once, giving them a look, and then turns to him.

"And, why, King Peter, would you apologize for that?"

Peter blinks, staring blankly at Dracus. "Because I killed you! I didn't even flinch when you screamed! I was a monster!" he exclaims, remembering his brother's cruel words. "Because. Because I was jealous!"

"Peter," Lucy says, stepping closer to him, "I didn't mean it like…"

Peter ignores her. "I felt like Ed was replacing me."

"Peter-!" Edmund thunders, but is interrupted by Dracus again.

"Do you feel like that now?"

Peter blinks, glances once at Edmund who nods at him. Then Susan; she gives him a reassuring look. Lucy nods as well. "No. I don't. I—I trust you."

"Then I'll leave you with your siblings," Dracus says, smiling. "And I thank you, all of you, for letting me stay here, in your home."

"It's all of Narnia's home," Susan says.

Dracus looks at his feet. Then glances up. "I ask one last favor of you. If I could borrow a horse to journey home?"

"Home?" Peter asks.

"The Western Mountains," Dracus says. He smiles at Edmund. "Maybe King Edmund will finally decide to tell you how he knows me." With that, he leaves the small corridor, disappearing around the corner.

"Oomph!" Peter exclaims when his brother crashes into him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

"Why wouldn't you tell me?" he whispers into Peter's shoulder. "You supreme idiot!"

Peter smiles, feeling his sisters' arms close around him, too. He holds them close. "What all have I missed?"

"Edmund almost started a war with Calormen," Lucy says.

He can feel Edmund scowl. "Susan conducted a trial and failed spectacularly! The hare practically dragged me to the Great Hall to help her!"

Susan giggles. "Well, Lucy sparred with Orieus!"

For the first time in a month, Peter laughs. "Tattletales."

Fin

Happy Halloween! It's been such a pleasure writing this story, and sharing it with you all lovely readers and reviewers. And it really shouldn't surprise that it was a dream. I'd been dropping hints ever since the first chapter! And some of it was real!

I hope the nice, happy ending brightened your morning, evening, or made for a good night's sleep!

Response to P: I am so, so sorry to hear that you just lost a pet. I've never had one but I know they become part of the family. I really hope you get over it soon, that the dog/cat/hamster rests in peace. Don't worry about not being able to read and review next weekend! I get busy too. Real life can get really real sometimes. And if you really want a picture, um, have you played 'The Last of Us' or its sequel? The clickers make it pretty close. Not really. But at least the Vri make the same clicking sound. You can google it; it's really terrifying.

With all the love, and wishing you a spooky Halloween,
~Pacifia