Ice cold hands wrapped around his throat. He could not see his attacker, but he knew it was her. He flailed his arms; any attempt to break free was a failure, just like every other time.

His choking breath was cut off entirely, and his protests only grew in intensity. Coldness trailed down his body. He felt her breath on his neck again, the same way she had when she branded him.

He was helpless and trapped again. She had him. And suddenly, he was no longer clouded by darkness, but rather, he was back in his cell with her hanging over him.

She moved the part of his shirt that covered his brand. Still, it pulsed and was red. It still read her name.

She leaned in closer, her cold lips grazed his ear as she whispered, "You and I will be together for all eternity."


Waking up with a terrible start, he realized a few seconds later that he had screamed himself awake. He was trembling, sweat drenched him, and yet, her touch still latched against his skin. He vaguely noticed figures in front of him, but none he recognized.

Immediately, he drew himself as far away from them as possible.

"No. Stay away from me," he pleaded as his back slammed against the frame of a bed. He could not get further away. He curled his knees up to his chest and sunk his head to them, covering his head with his arms.

The coldness lingered. He thought he could hear her laughter still. He held onto himself protectively. His heart constricted in his chest.

I can't do this again. I can't.

"Peter," the voice was familiar and distant. He could not pinpoint who it belonged to until she spoke again, "Peter, it's us." Susan. "Edmund, Lucy, and I are here with you. The four of us are home. In the Cair."

Keeping his arms over his head, he just wanted the Witch to go away. He could not see her again. He could not deal with everything being a lie. Not again.

"Peter, it's us," Lucy's voice steadily said.

"Just stop," Peter whispered. "Please." Panic gripped his being. He felt his breathing increase when Edmund spoke.

"Do you remember the day we were crowned? Peter, what did we do that morning?" Edmund asked calmly.

The question was bizarre, and he could not think of that answer. It was so long ago. He was a different person then—

"Come on, Peter, you know this," Edmund nudged. "Just think, before we met with Aslan. What did the four of us do?"

Taking a deep breath, he remembered that day. They had all scarcely slept, excited and nervous. At the rise of dawn, the four of them went down to the beach to play in the water and build sandcastles.

"We played on the beach," Peter answered quietly.

He remembered splashing water at the three of them. He remembered how it had been the first time they were able to really play in a long time.

"And I had found that shell that sort of looked like Susan's horn," Lucy proudly claimed. Then she added with a small chuckle, "You and Edmund had both lost in our splash fight. Susan and I were victorious."

Peter remembered it all. He remembered being with his siblings then.

And I am with them now, he told himself unsurely.

He noticed then that the cold no longer coiled around him. The Witch's laugh had ceased. His shake was still present but was far less violent.

He opened his eyes, cautiously raising his head. The sunlight was barely peering into his room. It could not have been more than an hour passed dawn.

His siblings were staring at him, each a different emotion. Lucy was smiling with a kindness leaving her. Susan looked tensed but cautious. And Edmund, Edmund just looked terribly sad.

Taking some steadying breaths, Peter felt himself regain some amount of control over his terror.

I am home, and Edmund did rescue me from the Witch. It was not a vision.

For a while, the four of them just stayed in silence. It was not until Peter had regained his composure for the most part that he even attempted to move from where he was. Peter grabbed the fresh goblet of water next to his bed, drinking a bit of it before he asked, "Could we leave this room?"

"How about we head down to our lounge for breakfast, and—" Peter shook his head.

After swallowing hard, he asked, "Can we go somewhere less," His brain paused on the word. Trapping. He thought that word. He could not bring himself to say it. "Confining?"

Lucy did not miss a beat as she immediately suggested, "We could go to the garden."

Peter noticed the concerned look that passed between Susan and Edmund but neither said anything about it. Instead, they simply helped him downstairs and outside.

As the scurrying for their attendants to set up breakfast for them commenced, Peter could not help but feel out of place. They were all supposed to be there, except for him.

His siblings did not pester him to speak much until their breakfast was prepared, and it was just the four of them sitting there. Peter picked at some toast but to actually eat it felt like a tall order.

"Peter?" Lucy's voice reached his ears. He barely looked at her before she asked, "You look like you might be sick. Are you feeling alright?"

The answer was uncertain on all basic levels, but when that question rose to different levels of complexity, he was certainly not okay in any regard.

"That reminds me," Lucy claimed as she pulled her cordial from her dress pocket. "You should take some. It will make you feel better."

Peter could not help but stare at the cordial with a terrible displeasure. That was for emergencies. Like when you saw Edmund dying.

"I am not dying," Peter replied bitterly. "You cannot be wasting it."

"It would not be a waste," Lucy said sweetly. "It would heal you, and give you some of your strength back."

"That is not what it is for," Peter insisted. How could he take something that healed even the gravest of injuries when he was alive? When so many others had died? "I will heal from my injuries. We need it for actual emergencies."

"Lucy is right," Edmund agreed. "The cordial would heal any of the injuries you still have."

"But she healed—" Peter hissed at him.

"I know," he answered softly. "The cordial will make sure you are completely healed."

Peter knew better though. Completely healed was a matter of perspective. He knew that the cordial could lessen scars' appearances, but if the cut were deep enough, the scar would remain. Edmund's stomach was evident of that. And the one scar that Peter wanted removed he knew would still remain. He just knew that he was not lucky enough to escape the fate of wearing her brand.

"We just want to make sure you are not still physically hurt," Susan added gently.

"I still don't think I should take it," Peter said. "I am not gravely injured."

Susan glanced at Edmund for a moment, concern radiated off of her. She said, "But you are, Peter." She paused to let her words sink in. "Just because you are not dying right this moment, it does not change the graveness of your injuries. You are still hurt."

"She may have healed you to keep you alive, but she did not heal all of you," Edmund gently added.

"It won't make a difference," Peter protested. "The—The scars will remain."

"That is okay," Lucy said brightly. Her words caught Peter off guard. "You will make peace with the ones that stay. Until then, let's heal all that we can." She held the cordial out to him. A smile plastered on her face. His chest felt tight, and he felt unsteady. But deep down, he knew he could trust his siblings on this. They were looking for out for him, even if he could not.

Reluctantly, Peter held out his emptied goblet for her and drank the cordial she poured for him. The small bit of cordial barely tasted like anything, simply leaving a small bit of an oak taste in his mouth afterwards.

Only after a few moments did Peter feel a sudden rush of warmth that started in his throat and wiggled down all the way to his toes. It was comfortingly delicate in him and made him feel like he was slowly regaining some of his energy. He looked down at his fingers, seeing them mended into their proper place once more. Not in the cruel way that the Witch's healing did, but rather in a gentle ease. He noticed some of his older scars on his fingers were gone as well. But some still remained on his hands. And her name would still be there too, Peter knew even as he tried to discreetly touch his collarbone, still feeling the risen part of his scar when he pressed in.

"How do you feel?" Edmund asked.

Some scars were healed, but he had more scars than he possibly could carry. He did not think most were physical either.

"I think I will feel better soon," Peter said for their sakes.

It placed a smile on Edmund and Lucy's faces. Susan was unconvinced. Peter assumed it was because even a little bit of cordial would not change how broken he was.