Edmund would finally get the time to stretch his legs. He crossed the small garden between the East and West Wings, and smiled at an Oak Dryad as he passed by. Then he went up the dark stairs, the path illuminated by only lanterns since sunlight didn't reach there. He chose them for it was a shorter path. And then reaching the right side of the corridor of his chambers, Edmund stopped to see Tavas hovering outside Peter's room.
"Tavas!" he exclaimed, running towards the faun. Tavas bowed; Edmund returned the gesture. "What is it?"
"High King Peter hasn't left his room, Sire. In four hours."
Edmund furrowed his brows, glancing at the brown door of his brother's room. "You mean he's been sulking in there ever since—Do you think he's mad at me? For moving his stuff back?"
"Not mad, Sir," Tavas said, shaking his head. "Just guilty. And scared."
"Scared? Tavas, that's—"
"I've heard him sob," Tavas said. And then came an ear-splitting sound of crash! And then a following sound of something breaking. "He might be a little angry too," Tavas admitted. Then before Edmund could stop him, he knocked on the door. "Go in, Majesty. I'll leave you."
Edmund blinked. "Tavas—" But he was already gone.
The door opened. A golden head poked out. Blue eyes judged him. And then the door shut again. Edmund sighed and knocked on the door. His brother growled, "Leave me alone! Aren't you supposed to be solving mysteries in the Great Hall? Or maybe having Tavas move my things to the roof! Go away!"
"Peter, you're acting childish."
"And you were very mature kicking me out of your room! You could have just told me you didn't want me there! I would've left."
"Pete, I have an anatomy lesson with Demiera. So, just open up so we can sort this out quickly."
No reply came for some time. Edmund's heart broke to hear a sob. Then Peter said, "Just leave. Please just leave me alone."
"Pete—"
"Leave!"
Edmund swallowed, blinking repeatedly until his vision cleared. "Maybe you can show-off your skills against your little brother tomorrow again! You'd like that, wouldn't you, Peter? Just a show-off!" Edmund growled, kicking the brown door, it shook around its hinges. "I hate you!"
And Edmund raced to his own room, determined to have some rest before his next lesson.
The Healing Wing's marble walls shone again as Edmund skittered down the stairs and hopped onto the ground of the lower Eastern Courtyard. He had his notebook and feathered quill in hand. The pages were vellum and it had been bound together by a rich silken thread only produced in Southern Archenland. Edmund liked learning about anatomy and ever since his lessons had started—two months ago—he'd kept careful notes. His tutor, Demiera, was a quiet Centauress. And she rarely ever left the Healing Wing. But her company was enjoyable at times. Most of the time, actually. Edmund turned left when he entered through the front gate of the Healing Wing.
The eastern part was reserved for medicinal purposes, with Talus as their head. Demiera was the Chief Healer. She tutored Peter, Susan, and Edmund. Each twice a week. Lucy was still too young. The long corridor Edmund was trotting through ended in a large room with five cots lined parallel to the walls. All were thankfully empty. And in the back corner, there was a large table, reserved for demonstrations. Edmund glanced at Demiera. He dropped his notebook.
"Euras!" he yelled, racing to the end of the room. The pup was gasping on the table as his two older brothers jumped around the table, desperate to reach their brother. Edmund looked at Demiera, rubbing Euras' neck to comfort him. "What happened?"
Before the Centauress could say anything, Arolos said, "We were playing in the woods, King Edmund! And he tripped over a root! Yes, he tripped! And then he wouldn't stop crying. He said he'd hurt his arm. So, we brought him here. Oh, could you not tell our mother and father, King Edmund. Father would be angry. And mother would fuss. And cry. And—"
"Hush, Arolos!" Wallus said, flicking his tail. "Oh, King Edmund, please, will he be alright? Demiera won't tell us."
Edmund looked at the Centauress once again; she was examining Euras' arm. "He'll be fine," she said. "Just a broken bone."
Crack!
Euras screamed. Edmund, Arolos, and Wallus initially startled back. And then the pups jumped up again, worried for their brother. Edmund rubbed Euras' neck, burying his fingers in his soft, black hair. "What did you do?" Edmund asked Demiera who was wrapping Euras' arm in a thick white bandage.
"Bones heal quickly in foals. It only needed a little mending," she said, tying a knot with the two free ends of the bandage. Then she lifted Euras in her arms—the pup had fainted. And gestured at Wallus. Wallus nodded and sat down, allowing Demiera to settle him onto his back. "Take him back home. And tell your father the truth, ja? Off with you then." And the two pups raced out of the room with their brother, and then disappeared out of the corridor.
"He'll really be fine?" Edmund asked the Centauress as she gestured at him to follow her. Edmund was about to do the same when he remembered his notebook. He made a dash, grabbed it, and hurried back, jogging. Demiera led him out the back door, through another dark corridor. Edmund didn't know of this path. Edmund started when Demiera answered his question after so long.
"The bone was cracked from between; I joined the two pieces. With enough heat, it'll reattach," she said. Edmund blinked.
"And for Sons of Adam?" Edmund asked, clutching a little more tightly to his notebook.
"Sons of Adam are fragile, Majesty. If you or your brother was to break a bone, it'd require bedrest and bitter potions to heal you," she said, her tail flicking. The Centauress then looked at him and laughed to see the fright on his face. "But I'm sure you'd be too careful for that to happen." Edmund thought about his brother and decided he couldn't be sure he wouldn't have a broken bone by tomorrow. He smiled grimly at his tutor and blinked when at the black wall they stopped in front of.
"Demiera?"
"I've taught you everything a first-year anatomy student can learn."
"In two months?" Edmund asked, still blinking at the black wall. There was no path.
"Indeed," Demiera said. "That notebook. Hold on to it. You'll need help."
"What for?" Edmund asked, gulping, sweating now. He did not like Demiera's tone.
"Now, we test what you've learnt."
And the lanterns were abruptly blown off, leaving Edmund in utter blackness. "Demiera!" No answer came and Edmund staggered back until he found the wall. He curled into it, clutching to his notebook, holding it over his heart. What was going on? He closed his eyes, not that it had any effect. He prayed. Until the support he was leaning against suddenly retreated back and Edmund fell, spraining his already hurt elbow. He groaned. Or he thought he did. It was someone else. Someone behind him. He turned, blinking to allow his pupils to adjust to the dim yellow light coming from the lantern hanging in the middle of the room. And then his eyes fell onto the gasping figure in the corner.
It couldn't be.
"Peter!"
He struggled to his feet, slipping numerous times on the greasy ground. But he somehow made his way to his brother. He fell before him. "Peter?"
"I told them not to. That you wouldn't…" Peter's eyes began drooping, head limping ahead.
"No, hey! Peter! Pete!"
But he was asleep.
Sudden light shone through the room when more lanterns were lit. Edmund glanced around. The room was almost completely empty. A greyish table in the middle, some tools laid on it. There was no door. Edmund's breathing became erratic and heavy. "Demiera!"
"He has been injected with snake's venom, Edmund. Your task is to keep him alive," a faint voice echoed through the walls. Edmund panicked.
"Keep him alive? Demiera, this isn't funny! Demiera!"
There came no answer, and Edmund buried his face in his hands. No. Not this. No. Please, no.
WHAT WAS WRONG WITH HIS TUTORS?!
Keep him alive. He had to keep him alive. How? Wake him! Edmund looked up at his unconscious brother. He unbuttoned his shirt, took off his boots, and loosened his silk belt. This would slow down his heartbeat and his blood-flow. Hence, keep the venom from spreading. Then he tapped his cheek, running his hand through his damp hair. "Come on, Peter. Come on!"
Edmund couldn't risk slapping him, afraid he'd increase his heartrate. He closed his eyes, trying to remember. He shook himself, trying to calm his nerves, and then opened his brother's mouth, flexing his jaw. "Peter!" He sighed and pressed his thumb onto his tongue, pushing it down until he could see his throat. Nothing happened for some seconds. But then Peter gagged and coughed, as if coming alive. He opened his eyes just enough to reveal the china-blue colour through narrow slits. "Peter!"
"It's spinning," he choked out.
Edmund, satisfied that Peter would not be going back to sleep, clapped his shoulder with both his hands. "I'll be right back, okay? Everything's fine. You're fine."
And he scurried to the grey table in the middle of the room. A lantern hanging directly above him illuminated the various items laid in front of him. All useless! A knife. A leather belt. A stone. A bowl? Some herbs. A jug of water. And a thin tube? Nothing to help his brother! He smacked his head. Stupid! He dashed back to his brother. He grabbed his notebook, shushing his groaning brother. He flipped through the pages. Useless. Useless. Useless! But then he saw it. And there! Azath's cure.
The drawings Edmund had made depicted a Bear making some sort of paste, beating the herbs with a wooden stick. Beside the figure, he'd noted down the names of the herbs, all had descriptions written under them. Edmund thanked his past self. Platis' leaves. Resro's flowers. Kortel's root fibers. And water. Edmund kissed his brother's forehead, telling him he'd be alright. And then rushed back to the table. He spotted the leaves. The flowers. The fibers! He was in the right direction. But what he would have to do—
What if he failed?
Edmund gave his subconscious a good scolding and quickly threw the ingredients into the bowl. He began beating them with the stone, adding small amounts of water at times. Peter was still groaning behind him. And that reassured Edmund. He stirred the paste with the knife and added more water until he had himself a green, liquid mixture. He cleaned the knife with the remaining water and grabbed the belt and tube and bowl with the mixture. He ran to his brother. This was going to be tricky.
He strapped the leather belt on his arm, tightening it until he could see his veins. And then he picked the knife, breathing heavily. Oh, Aslan. He wished his shaking hands would still. The riveous vein—the thickest vein in the human body, but not nearly as thick as the thinnest artery—had popped out. Edmund breathed heavily. He could do this. The knife's tip hovered over his brother's wrist.
Oh, Aslan!
Come on, come on, come on!
He pressed the knife onto his skin. He would fail! He knew he couldn't! He wasn't skilled enough!
Aslan!
"Stop!" said a voice from behind them. And Edmund twisted to see Demiera galloping towards them.
"Wha—what?" Edmund said between breaths.
"You've done well, King Edmund," she said.
"But…" He turned to his brother. Peter had drifted off again. Demiera knelt beside them both. She lifted Peter's small body—to Demiera, at least—easily and they began walking out of the room. The room in which doors magically appear, Edmund thought.
"It was only Sorontia that I gave him, King Edmund. Never any poison."
Edmund stopped. Demiera walked two steps ahead before halting as well. She turned to her King. "Are you telling me you terrified me that my brother was going to die for no reason?"
"It was a test. How well you can think under pressure. Very well," she praised, adjusting her hold on Peter when he nuzzled closer. Edmund smiled subconsciously. When they reached the demonstration room, Demiera said, "Your older brother and sister failed this test."
"And I passed?" Edmund asked as Demiera settled Peter onto one of the cots. She tucked him in.
"Yes."
Peter woke an hour later—Demiera had given him Relium that neutralized the effects of the sleeping drug, Sorontia. Edmund didn't think he'd seen him for he would've scoffed at him. Peter merely sat against the wall attached to the cot, glancing around, befuddled. Peter didn't see him until he coughed—very awkwardly. As Expected, Peter huffed at him and turned away, still sticking to childish then. But when Edmund's lower lip began trembling, Peter turned to him, blinking. "Ed?"
Edmund threw himself at him, catching him by surprise for they both almost fell off the cot. But when Peter regained his balance and his arms found their way around Edmund's shaking shoulders, he said, "You don't hate me anymore, I take it?"
Edmund sniffed, nuzzling his face into his brother's neck. "Not funny. Not funny at all." He sniffed again. "Demiera told me she injected you with snake's venom. I thought I'd fail. I thought you'd die," he whispered, and his hair must have tickled Peter for he laughed.
"Ed, you didn't really think she'd let me die?" Peter asked, weaving his fingers into his brother's long hair.
Edmund pulled back. "Well, at least I passed! Demiera told me you and Susan failed."
Peter rubbed his neck sheepishly. "Yes, well, because we thought you were going to die. Susan got as far as filtering your blood."
"Filtering my what?" Edmund asked, not understanding the words.
"I refused to leave your side. You kept calling my name."
"Filtering my what?" Edmund repeated when Peter didn't give him a straight answer. Peter laughed, playfully clapping his shoulder. Then he ruffled a hand through his hair. The tousled mop now probably had unsolvable knots! Ugh.
"We couldn't let you know. That would just ruin the whole surprise!" Peter exclaimed. Edmund rolled his eyes. Then he sighed.
"I'm sorry, Peter. I'm really, really sorry. You said we should stop and I didn't listen to you. I wanted to beat you." Edmund looked down. "And I'm sorry I told Tavas to move your stuff back." He looked up again, eyes twinkling. "You could move back in! Oh, please do, Peter!"
Peter smiled. "No, Edmund." Edmund frowned, biting his lip. "Come here," and Peter pulled him close by his right wrist. "Sorry," said Peter when Edmund squeaked. His wrist's muscles were still sore. When his brother was securely tucked under blankets beside him, wrapped in Peter's arms, he said, "You're turning eleven in two weeks."
"That would make me only three years younger than you," Edmund said, grinning.
Peter laughed. "For two months." Edmund frowned again. "But what I mean to say is that I think you're responsible enough to have your own room."
Edmund looked at his brother with a brow raised. "Peter, you're forgetting that you moved into my room because you had nightmares after Beruna. I was always responsible! Lucy's had her own room ever since our coronation!"
"Because Lucy's a girl. Girls are more responsible."
"Susan told you that, didn't she?" Edmund asked, giggling.
Peter put a finger over his lips. "Shh." He laughed. "But you'll probably be sleeping in my room more often than yours."
Edmund smiled guiltily. "Hey!" Edmund said when Peter's hand crawled over his stomach, tickling him. "Pete, stop!" But he was laughing uncontrollably now. Never stopping to breathe. "Peter!" But Peter kept tickling him, making him slip down to the cot. "Alright! Alright! I admit defeat!"
"There you go," Peter said, finally withdrawing his hands. He kissed his brother's forehead. "I love you, Ed. And I'm sorry, too."
"I love you, too, Peter," came the sweet reply.
"But I thought you hated me."
Edmund whacked his brother's face with a pillow. It fell. And Peter spit out a feather. Edmund laughed and was too quick for Peter to catch him before he had slid off the cot. He grabbed his notebook and quill from the small table beside the cot and ran out of the room.
"Ed!"
"History lesson with Achemus!" Edmund shouted back as he jogged back towards Cair.
Response to P: I really, really you're fine. Being sick is absolutely miserable. Thank you for the review! :-)
With love,
~Pacifia