Days past. Some kind of public ceremony took place out in the main square, Peter could hear through his cell window. Likely a funeral for Caspian. He still had no idea if they ever found the body, a thought which made his heart sink.
In the meantime there was nothing to do but wait. Peter suspected there were certain affairs of state that had to take priority, but he also knew the gravity of the loss of the crown prince demanded swift justice. They would come for him sooner or later. He supposed the wait itself was part of the punishment.
Clanging metal jarred him into wakefulness. Aside from the two dungeon sentries, another pair of guards flanked a dark figure. General Glozelle himself, Miraz's right hand man, approached the cell door.
"Sir Peter Pevensie, you are to stand trial for the assassination of Prince Caspian," barked the seasoned warrior, though his tone was hollow, forced. They had fought alongside one another in the past.
"Glozelle, please tell me you don't believe all of this," Peter groaned. His throat was already dry, having not had water since the night before. The guards wordlessly opened the door, hauled him to his feet, and began switching out the wall shackles for an unanchored pair. The general avoided eye contact.
"What I think doesn't matter."
"But we know each other, we've served together!"
"I suggest you watch your tongue. Wouldn't want Lord Miraz to get the impression that you resisted…"
Jaw clenched, Peter got the message. There would be no friends for him, even in private. He was alone. The little procession trooped up through the stairwells and hallways to the great hall. So this is to be a public show. In addition to the full court, nobles of the city filled out the large space. More Telmarine citizens crowded the upper gallery.
Miraz sat at the head of the gathering, his council standing on either side. The guards forced Peter to his knees.
"I present the accused, Sire," announced Glozelle.
The court administrator, a man Peter didn't recognize, stepped forward. "Sir Peter Pevensie, you are accused of conspiring against the crown of Telmar, the assassination of Crown Prince Caspian, and treason. Let the first witness be called forth."
A page opened the antechamber door; all eyes in the room watched as Ned was escorted to the front of the court. A bandage remained conspicuously around his head, Peter reasoned to emphasize the knockout strike he had dealt the man back in the woods.
"State your name and position," the administrator instructed.
"My name is Ned, I'm a member of the citadel guard, and I was one of the prince's companions on his crown hunt."
"What did you witness on that occasion?"
"We had seen the Prince to a successful hunt, he had taken both a handsome buck and a wolf who sought to steal his prize. Just before morning as we made our return, however, this man attempted to take the rest of the camp by surprise." The guard waved toward Peter.
"What goal did he seem to have by this?"
"He targeted the Prince, Milord."
A shocked rumble echoed through the assembly. Peter's fists tightened to the point where his nails dug into his palms. Don't react, don't react…
"And did he succeed, Ned?"
"Not immediately. I did my best to intervene, we all fought. But I suffered a blow to the head. When I woke, both the Prince and the assassin were nowhere to be found. My compatriot saw more."
"Very well, thank you for your testimony." The administrator dismissed Ned. "Let the second witness be called forth."
Geoffrey appeared with similarly obvious bandages. The one around his hand showed spots of blood, and he limped to the side that had fallen on the hot log.
"State your name and position."
"Geoffrey, I have served the citadel guard for over fifteen years."
"You accompanied Prince Caspian on his hunt as well, did you not?"
"Yes."
"Your fellow guard said that the accused carried out a surprise attack. Can you corroborate this?"
Yes I can. I awoke to shouting, Sir Peter and Ned both already had blades out. The Prince had a gash to one arm, but was reaching for his own weapon. I tried to intervene, hopefully give him some cover to get away. In the process Ned was incapacitated, and I was pushed into a remnant of the fire." Geoffrey nursed his limp for added effect.
"What happened next?"
"We grappled over a crossbow, only my efforts were tragically not enough—the Prince was shot, and fell over the nearby waterfall."
Again the spectators gasped and moaned in horror. Peter couldn't help but bristle at the egregious story being told purely to justify MIraz's ambitions.
The Lord Protector immediately fixed Peter with a knowing Look. A gaze conveying the threat he knew Miraz was capable of carrying out. So Peter forced himself to settle down, stuff his fury deep out of sight. He had to keep every scrap of thought focused on his siblings in order to do this.
Geoffrey was directed out of the hall. The court administrator turned to the room at large. "As you can see, Sire, the evidence is already pretty clear. The accused even still has blood on his clothes."
Peter could feel hundreds of eyes craning for a glimpse.
"Sir Peter, have you anything to say in your defense? Can you refute any of this testimony?"
Miraz's stare intensified. Near imperceptible satisfaction mingled with the danger radiating from him. Peter dropped his eyes to the dais steps, and swallowed a bitter taste filling his mouth.
"No…I cannot," he relented.
"Louder boy, what is your answer?"
"I can't refute the allegations."
The biggest gasp yet rippled through the gathering. Miraz allowed himself the smallest of derisive smiles. The administrator called for order.
"Quiet! There must be quiet for the Lord Protector to make his ruling."
After several dramatic moments, Miraz stood. "How long have you carried a sword for Telmar, Sir Peter?"
"Three years now, after my parents passed away, though I had trained informally with the late Prince for much longer," croaked Peter. He knew where this was going.
"Informally? Eligible Telmarine boys are apprenticed as early as age 6 or 7. Is there a reason you were not taken on by a knight?"
"…Because I wasn't born to a Telmarine family. I wasn't allowed to be an apprentice."
"And yet you were given knighthood?"
"The previous king, Caspian IX, valued my parents as councilors and diplomats, and Telmar has consistently held peaceful relations with Narnia. I grew up around the royal court. Prince Caspian was of the same opinion once he became old enough to take leadership of—"
"So with no Telmarine blood, no official qualifications, you managed to serve at the side of the heir to the throne of Telmar? And on top of that, you say you cannot refute the accusations of two Telmarine citizens calling you an assassin?"
Peter swallowed hard. The tension among everyone present was palpable.
"It's disheartening to say the least, discovering that one believed to be so trusted by the late Prince is also the one who brought about his death," Miraz boomed. "If you have no defense to offer, then I have no choice but to declare you guilty."
The hall erupted with voices despite the administrator's efforts. Miraz simply continued over the din.
"And given the severity of the crimes, the only fitting sentence I can hand down is death, to be carried out by flogging."
"No!" a shriek resounded from the gallery. Peter twisted around before he could stop himself. Huddled near the stone railing, though others tried to usher them out, were Susan, Edmund, and Lucy. His youngest sister was hysterical.
"Take him away!" declared the administrator. The guards pulled Peter none too gently out of the hall, back to the dungeon.
It was as if his cell contained no air. Emotions roiled within him—anger, fear, anguish. Yet these feelings refused to be let out no matter how Peter wished to express them. They were all trapped together within his chest until he thought he would burst from the pressure. He sat there, paralyzed, chained to the wall…like there was any chance he would try to escape.
Like he could do anything anymore.