Peter didn't know what exactly woke him. At first he thought it was rolling over, pulling at the gashes in his skin. One side of his cloak had slipped down, which chilled his back. The forest was still dark beyond the glow of the low fire, although dawn couldn't be too far away.

Then he heard the whispers.

"—Good a time as any."

"What about showing him proof? It's a long way to go with so much dead weight."

"If we wait, the next chance might be too close to outlying villages. Some peasant might see or hear. Anyway, out here we can make it look like a hunting tragedy. Much more public sympathy."

"Both of 'em?"

"He just wants the job done! Let's get it over with so we can go home and get paid."

Sounds of shuffling followed. Under the cover of his cloak Peter gripped his dagger. Sure enough, one rustling sound drew closer to him. He waited as long as he dared, and then flipped over with dagger at the ready.

Geoffrey crouched nearby, also with a drawn blade. They froze for a moment, shocked, staring at each other. Until Peter's brain clicked into gear.

"Prince Caspian!"

The prince startled, only to immediately have to fend off a dagger in Ned's hand. Its point came close enough to graze his arm. Caspian snatched up his sword on his way to his feet. "What is the meaning of this? How dare you!" They started to grapple. Small items went tumbling around them.

Peter's attention was overtaken by Geoffrey's own redoubled efforts. Bedrolls and fire embers went flying, metal clashing against metal. Peter switched the dagger to his left and grabbed the nearest sword in his right. With a shove he sent Geoffrey back onto a glowing log. The guard howled. But that gave Peter the respite to jump in between Ned and Caspian.

"Run, Sire! They're acting on someone's orders!"

"What?!"

"Just go! Get out of here, I'll be right behind you!"

A fist to Peter's temple turned his vision briefly to stars. When it cleared, however, Caspian had indeed taken off toward the waterfall. Right at the top, a narrow outcrop formed a broken bridgelike formation under which the water plunged. Extending just far enough that a man could jump to the other side.

Peter disarmed Ned. Ned landed a second punch to Peter's injured shoulder. Peter brought his sword pommel down on Ned's skull, knocking him out cold.

Pheww!

He completely missed Geoffrey pulling out one of the crossbows—only it wasn't aimed at Peter. Instead, he heard a shout behind him.

The bolt struck Caspian in the thigh. As if time slowed, Peter watched his friend stumble, teeter…and disappear over the dark edge of the falls.

"Nooo!" He flipped his dagger so that he held it by the blade, and threw it at Geoffrey. The guard used the crossbow to block it, but the sharp weapon struck his hand nonetheless. Then Peter turned and sprinted downstream as fast as he could in the dark.

Nonononono, I can't lose him like this, he's the next king! His thoughts raced faster than his legs. A couple times he nearly went over the side of the narrow gulley himself. He didn't know how much time passed before the rocky elevation flattened out enough to be able to scan the water. Sunrise also began to creep through the trees.

"Caspian!" he called out hoarsely. His lungs burned. His muscles burned. The skin around his injuries burned from sweating.

At some point Peter simply crashed to his knees. There was no sign of anyone, alive or otherwise, in the river current. Thankfully no sign of their traitorous comrades on land, either.

Light filtered through the woods. His breathing somewhat stabilized. Heat from the exertion leeched away into the morning chill. It was replaced by icy dread.

What the hell had just happened?

Yes, he cognitively recognized that it was an ambush, an assassination attempt. He just couldn't fathom why. Caspian had always been well-liked, and a hugely popular figure in Telmar as the people awaited his formal ascension to the throne. Peter contemplated whether it could be foreign influence, but both Geoffrey and Ned had been serving the crown for years, longer than Peter himself had. Yet he supposed it wasn't out of the realm impossibility.

With no supplies, his options were limited. His gut still urged him to try to find Caspian. A fall from that height was undeniably dangerous, especially when already injured, but there had to be some sign of the prince, somewhere. Time was of the essence if there was still any hope of finding him alive. On the other hand, if another kingdom was involved, this might only be the beginning. Miraz needed to be informed. And the resources of a proper search party could cover much more ground than a lone man.

I can't just leave Caspian out here, Peter rued. At last he continued downstream to where the river was navigable, drank his fill, and crossed. Perhaps he would find signs on the opposite bank. Even as he searched, he couldn't get the image out of his head. How quickly it happened. A lump formed in his throat thinking of Caspian tumbling out of view. If ever there was a time for a forest guardian…

Now that it was fully light, he made his way back up along the other side of the river. A thicket of blackberries provided something to put in his growling stomach. He still had his sword, just no sheath in which to stow it.

By the time the cleft in the hill became too deep to reach the water—or escape it—Peter figured he was closer to the falls to cross again rather than backtracking. Would Ned and Geoffrey have taken the time to grab their things before leaving (he saw no reason why they would stick around), or just taken off as quickly as possible? Peter exercised caution going forward, in any case.

The top of the plunging water was indeed deserted. Peter's stomach turned when he saw what were probably drops of blood on the slick rocks over the water. His and Caspian's sleeping places were more or less left alone. The buck and wolf had been unceremoniously dropped on the ground, and the horse was gone, as well as all the weapons.

The sight of Caspian's cloak with its royal emblem brought unexpected tears to Peter's eyes. If there was still no sign of his friend by now, was there really any chance of finding him? The loss struck Peter personally as well as the loss of a leader, a sovereign.

Get your head together, this isn't over yet!

At least he found his sheath. The sword belt would be handy enough to assemble a small bundle of essentials. He rolled both cloaks around the sheathed sword so the weapon was still accessible if needed. The cut straps from a bedroll (it wasn't safe to sleep on the ground alone) secured it all together, with the sword belt looped through them so he could sling the lot over his back. The rest he would have to leave behind.

Peter set out to return to the city with all maintainable speed. He kept his senses on full alert. Already he knew he wouldn't make the full distance before nightfall, but he could make it as far as possible. Maybe even find a farmer or traveler with transportation, who would be willing to give him a lift.

Peter tried to press on despite night falling. Hunger and exhaustion were starting to get to him, let alone the limited visibility. Only when some kind of vine caught his foot, sending him flat on his face, did he admit that he had to stop for a while.

Stepping more carefully, he searched for a suitable tree to climb. Wide enough of a split or branch to lean into while sleeping, but also high enough to not be ambushed. When he did find such a tree, he scaled it, wrapped himself in the cloaks, and used the sword belt and straps to tie himself to the branch, to prevent him from falling out.

It's a good thing he did, too. The next thing he knew, he was surrounded by sun-dappled green. Daytime already! Peter fumbled to unstrap himself from the tree and climb down.

He wished he was still close enough to the river for water. Neither did he have much luck finding anything to eat, though a few mint leaves to suck on was better than nothing. Once he got moving, he could somewhat take his mind off of the emptiness.

As it turned out, however, he didn't have as long to wait as he thought. The sound of voices and hoofbeats rumbled through the forest ahead of him. Soon he could see flashes of color between the tree trunks. Telmar colors.

"Hoy, over here!" Peter jogged forward, waving his arms. "I didn't think a patrol would be in these parts—"

"There 'ee is!"

Half a dozen pikes and crossbows were leveled at Peter. Lord Miraz himself goaded his horse to the front, alongside none other than Ned and Geoffrey. The lord protector wore an expression of deadly calm.

"Seize him."

"What?! There are traitors right there in your midst! They attacked the prince and myself, now Prince Caspian is missing!"

"How coincidental. They say the exact same thing about you, and you're the one covered in blood."

"That's from before, on the hunt! My Lord—"

"Sir Peter Pevensie, you are under arrest for assassination of royalty, and attempted murder of royal guards. If you do not silence yourself, you will be silenced."

Peter sputtered in protest, completely shocked by this turn of events. Soldiers came forward with rope to bind his hands, one pulled Peter's sword from the bundle on his back. Then as the patrol readied to move out, he saw it—a dark object, which Miraz tossed to Geoffrey. But before Peter could react further, something hard connected with the back of his head.