Sadly enough, Susan was distressed that they had found no trace of Peter. At all. Not even a trail.

They had been riding South for a day now. All Susan wanted to do is go back to home. Find Peter, safe, and bring him back. She could only imagine what was happening to him. Unfortunately, there was not much time to talk amongst her soldiers and her. Therefore, there was plenty of time for her internal thoughts to conjure the worst possible means of what was happening to her beloved brother.

She just hoped they found him soon. It had been days since he was attacked. Only Aslan knew what he was going through, and Susan would not even allow her brain to try to process the possibility of him being dead. She could not bear it. Instead, she sent a silent prayer to Aslan for her to find him and for Aslan's protection.

Almost as if Aslan was answering her directly, Bralen stopped in his tracks. His head peaked up; he looked around. He spoke nothing. It made her uneasy.

"My good cousin, what is it?" Susan asked as she pulled next to him. She was looking at him as his nose twitched.

"I have a faint scent," Bralen announced. He sniffed in the air before confirming, "It is the High King's!" Bralen took off, charging ahead. Susan beckoned her horse and her fellow soldiers to follow him.

Peter!

Her heart was caught in her throat, her stomach in knots. Hang on, Peter, we are coming. Bralen raced as fast as he could. Susan and her troop trailed closely behind. He bended and twisted around corners, and soon, they were a few miles from where they were when he caught the scent.

He halted in a gouge, looking around, sniffing. Susan looked around. The gouge was deserted. There was no one here. Not Peter, not even the indication that he was. There were just trees and a few small animals that had been startled by their sudden approach.

A fearful doubt pressed in her chest. She was afraid of what they were going to find. She was afraid that they would not find anything.

"He is here," Bralen insisted. Hope sparked in her heart. Please, be Peter. Please, let me find him alive here. Bralen's nose pressed to the ground. Susan dismounted off Dawn, gently patting her nose as she went to Bralen's side.

He was leading her passed the nearby trees to some brush that covered the roots of a tree. Her heart hitched as Bralen stopped at its foot. His nose sticking in the brush, his paw pealed the brush aside.

"I am so sorry, Queen Susan," Bralen said quietly to her, for it was not Peter they found.

Instead, she saw a glimpse of red and gold on the hilt of a sword. The sword was coated with old blood that had not been cleaned. But she would recognize this sword anywhere. Despite its misshapen appearance, it was Rhindon, Peter's beloved sword.

She knew he would have never parted ways with it willingly. It was Father Christmas's gift to him. It was one of his most treasured possessions.

Susan's entire hopes sank as she saw the truth spelled out on his sword. There was blood splattered on the blade and on his hilt. The ambush that Kelo had speculated must have been the truth, and based on the condition of Peter's sword, he had given every single thing he had to protect himself and his guards.

Oh, Peter, where are you? Susan asked herself. She reached down, carefully picking up Rhindon with a gloved hand.

Someone had discarded Peter's sword here. Someone went out of their way to place this sword here. Whether that meant Peter was close to them or somewhere must further, she did not know. All she knew was that she was not going to give up. She would give Peter back his sword. She would find him.

She was never going to give up until she found him.


The Witch left him alone. And he could not stop staring at the words. Jadis. It would forever be on his skin. He was hers. She had scarred him.

His breathing escalated, accelerating as he looked away in shame. It was only a moment later he was staring once again.

The tears boiled right over. A shaking sob left him.

I can't do this, I can't do it, Peter thought to himself. The tears kept coming. She carved into him. She left her mark on him.

It was not long before he was weeping. He was feeling all of it. All the turmoil he had suppressed for the days of captive.

His whole body heaved with every sob that left him. It was all too much.

He tried. He tried to escape. And look what happened. Staring back in his reflection was the consequences of his actions.

He cried for hours. Most of it was sobbing. He could not take it anymore. He was breaking down with every passing moment.

When he finished sobbing, he was numb and exhausted. Every inch of him was screaming in pain. With the last bit of his capacity spent on tears, he passed out into a terrible sleep.


When they came for him again, he was already awake. They handed him water, and he drank it without protest.

As they started unchaining and shackling him, he quietly pleaded, "Please, just leave me alone." They did not. They placed the shackles on his raw wrists.

They grabbed him by the arms, leading him to the throne room again. He just slowly walked beside them. When they were back in the throne room, Jadis was waiting for him.

He took an instinctively step back before her guards held onto him, forcing him forward.

Jadis strolled over to him, saying, "We have much to do."

"No, please," Peter quietly replied.

She brushed his cheek, making him avert his eyes.

"But Peter, there is so much we have to learn from each other," she said. The guards readjusted their firm grip on him. She placed her hand on his cheek, despite his pull away from her. "Let me show you." Her fingers touched his temple.

He was now on the battlefield of Beruna. He heard the sounds of screams and swords clashing. He would always be haunted by this day.

He saw himself, fighting a minotaur. He was so young. It was odd to see himself fighting in this battle. But it was not his younger self that caught his eye. Peter was standing in the middle of the battlefield where he saw Jadis coming towards his younger self. The movement above the rocks was what drew his attention.

Despite being smaller than he was now, Edmund was still quick, and here he was running as fast as he could towards the White Witch.

"No, Edmund!" Peter shouted.

Edmund kept his pace. He ran with his sword flailing in the air. His little legs moving barely fast enough to keep up with his heart.

Peter had understood the protectiveness that Edmund had experienced in this moment. Peter always felt it when one of his siblings was in danger. It did not change how devastating this act was to behold. Then and now.

With a valiantly yell, Edmund dropped down from the rocks, and after a quick parry, he smashed his sword down on Jadis's wand. A blue light scattered across their vision.

They were all dazed for a moment. But Jadis was quicker. She was always quicker. She recovered, maneuvering the sword right out of his hand.

"Edmund!" Peter yelled with his younger self when Edmund was stabbed.

It did not matter that he knew Edmund survived the injury. It was still witnessing one of the worst moments of Peter's life again.

Edmund let out a painful gasp, and just as it had on the day it happened, time slowed down. Edmund stared ahead. Peter's heart stopped as it did then.

With a thud, Edmund hit the ground.

All around the battlefield, everyone disappeared. No Narnians, no Jadis's forces, no Jadis, and Peter's younger self vanished.

It was just Edmund lying on the ground. Edmund's wheezing was heard all the way from where Peter stood. He was gasping for air. Peter found that he could run to him.

Crouched beside him, Peter took one of Edmund's hands.

"Edmund," he began, as Edmund began choking. "No, no," Peter whimpered. Edmund was staring at him, desperation in his eyes. "No, Lucy saves you." His voice barely a whisper. "Lucy saves you."

It did not change that Peter was watching Edmund convulse in front of him. Edmund choked until he could no more and died holding onto Peter's hand.

"It's not real," Peter whispered to himself weakly. He closed his eyes.

"You're right," Jadis's voice tickled his ear. The vision changed back to the throne room. She was standing close to him, a smirk on her face. "He did not die that day, but—" she reached up, wiping one of Peter's tears off his cheek, much to his discomfort, before continuing, "It does not change the pain such a memory causes."

Peter sniffled as she walked behind him. He just stared ahead, no longer trying to follow her movements.

"You know, Peter, I have plenty of memories of my time with Edmund. I am certain you want to see." She came in front of him, reaching towards his face.

"No, stop!"

For once, she did.

"Please," Peter said. "I don't want to see anymore."

"I know you don't," she said.

Then she touched his temple once more.