A/N: apologies again for the delay; on the other hand, a holiday gift for you =)
CW for descriptions of capital punishment
A horsedrawn cart waited outside, fitted with a cage and manacles riveted to the bars, and a contingent of guards to accompany it. Peter was hauled up and secured into this new enclosure. He had seen it once or twice before. The worst convicted criminals, paraded through the city so its inhabitants knew what was about to happen.
The crowds quickly thickened as the cart trundled along. Many jeered at Peter, some even threw things like rotten produce or small rocks. It was a cruel variation compared to the hunt's optimistic trek through the same streets, which might as well have been a lifetime ago. Every so often he saw faces he recognized, friends and neighbors, most showing some degree of shock or sadness at his predicament. He tried not to make direct eye contact with too many people.
The procession wound its way back up to the main square, where a platform with a tall tripod post waited. Up on a terrace of the castle stood Miraz, his council—and Susan and Edmund, under close guard. Still no Lucy.
Peter's heart went into a panicked sprint. Susan was already crying. He knew Miraz had told him as much in the dungeon, but to actually see them, to truly realize that they were going to be forced to watch…
"Peter Pevensie, you have been charged and convicted of the assassination of the late Prince Caspian," Miraz announced for the whole square to hear, deliberately foregoing Peter's court title. The guards unlocked the cart, followed by the restraints so that Peter could be escorted out of the cage. "I, Miraz, Lord Protector and declared King of Telmar, sentence you to death for this crime."
Two guards steered Peter up the steps to the platform, where he was stripped of his shirt. Another bound his hands with rope, passed the other end through a ring between the posts, and knotted it almost taut. This ensured he would remain on display the whole time. A grim, masked figure in black ascended the stairs, coiled whip in hand. Miraz gave the signal.
The first blow drove the breath from Peter's lungs in a grunt. He had to stifle his voice for as long as possible, for his siblings' sakes. Swallow the pain, summon all the strength he had. But he couldn't suppress the physical recoil. The way his back arched with each strike. The grimace tightening his face. The tremor that began to run up and down his limbs.
There was a pause in the whip's rhythm; too late did Peter recognize why. Liquid splashed across him, setting his back on fire. He howled at the sudden escalation. Then the whipping resumed, even more vicious than before. Soon hot rivulets trickled down his skin along with the sweat and saltwater intensifying the pain.
Peter's throat felt equally raw. He cried out openly now from lash after lash. A second round of brine pitched his voice to an outright scream. He prayed for the blackness to take him, just let it be over, only it seemed he was destined to go mad first…his legs had given way at some point, making it harder to breathe…he almost couldn't feel the whip anymore, until another dousing reawoke every inch of his back…a roar built up in his ears as he finally, blessedly slipped into unconsciousness…
The entire square broke from its frozen reverie, for indeed a roar echoed among the stone walls. People looked around frantically for the source.
"Miraz!"
Apprehension turned to outright panic as an actual lion loped into view. On his back rode a young girl, and a very-much-alive Prince Caspian. The latter drew his sword, pointing it up at his uncle.
"Lucy!" Susan cried out from the terrace.
"Miraz, you are hereby charged with treason, for plotting to have me killed, and taking my throne for yourself!"
Those who hadn't already fled down side streets stood aghast. Here was the prince himself, not only alive but accusing the Lord Protector of being the architect of his supposed death. Guards and soldiers looked at one another, no longer sure whose orders to believe, or who was friend or foe.
Caspian turned his attention to the remaining wider assembly. "Warriors of Telmar, restore your kingdom's honor! Bring me the traitors who have deceived you for their own gain!"
Fighting broke out in several places, though most appeared to rally with shouts of "To arms for Prince Caspian!"
The lion bounded across the square toward the castle, still carrying both riders, and easily scaled the lower-level buttresses and gables to the terrace. Here Lucy scrambled to dismount—Susan and Edmund had broken away from their guards in the chaos. The three siblings tearfully reunited, while the lion planted himself between them and Miraz's entourage. Caspian also jumped to the ground to confront his uncle face-to-face. Only a slight limp, the same leg that sported a bandage around the thigh, affected his demeanor.
"Prince Caspian, by the fates we thought you were lost," simpered Miraz in a thin show of relief. "It is a joy to see you here in good health."
"I'd thank you for your concern, if it weren't so thoroughly coated in hypocrisy," Caspian spat.
"What have I done besides loyally served the kingdom in your stead?"
Caspian pulled a medallion from his pocket. "Bold of you to fashion yourself a royal seal, Lord Protector. This fell from Ned's pocket while he was attacking me in the woods. It's not the official standard of Telmar, so I have to assume it denotes some kind of promise of reward for changing the course of the kingdom. Had Peter not alerted me, I wouldn't have stood a chance."
"So you managed to survive an arrow in your leg and a rocky waterfall?" growled his uncle.
"Even that might not have been certain, until my new friend here pulled me out." The Prince gestured toward the lion.
"What on earth is going on, Lu?" whispered Edmund.
"Don't you see?" Lucy replied excitedly. "He's the guardian from the stories, Aslan! I thought if I could make it out to the woods, maybe he would help, and it turns out he helped Prince Caspian too."
The others stared at her in awe. Meanwhile, Miraz was casually stepping backward. "Well, good help is so rare to find these days."
Some council members actively retreated to the nearby door, but soldiers poured out of it, weapons leveled, cutting off their escape. More than one nobleman laid down his sword in the face of such odds. Miraz stopped, glowered. One hand drifted to the hilt of his own blade.
The lion gave a warning rumble, bearing his teeth.
"Surrender quietly, Uncle, and there doesn't have to be any more bloodshed," said Caspian.
"At least not until you execute those who stand in your way."
"I didn't say I wouldn't do what was necessary for the good of the kingdom. I would just prefer to do it without fighting."
"Then you know little about being a king of Telmar…"
With swift reflexes Miraz had his sword out and arcing toward Caspian. The lion sprang, blade deflected by his thick, golden mane, and pounced on the would-be usurper. The impact was so forceful that the onlookers could hear a sickening crack as man and beast hit the ground. Susan quickly shielded Lucy's view. The rest of Miraz's entourage surrendered.
Satisfied that loyal soldiers were bringing the scene under control, Caspian turned to the Pevensies. "Are you all right? Did anyone hurt you before I arrived?"
"We're fine, it's Peter who—Peter!" Edmund took off mid-sentence for a narrow passage down to the square from the terrace. Caspian and the girls rushed after him. In all the turmoil Peter had been left where he was, suspended by his tied wrists on the platform. Blood coated his horribly mutilated back. He didn't move.
"Someone bring me a knife!" Caspian yelled to the square at large. He and Edmund both leapt up onto the platform. "And we need some kind of stretcher, cloak, anything to carry him!"
A guard jogged over with a knife. Edmund took it while Caspian supported Peter's limp body. The prince's stomach turned at the extent of the injuries. "What was the meaning of this?"
"Miraz needed to blame someone for your death, so he made Peter out to be the assassin…"croaked Susan. She held Lucy tightly to keep her from looking at their brother's condition.
"Easy, easy setting him down," Edmund remarked, helping Caspian to lower Peter. They got his wrists undone, then Edmund frantically searched for a pulse, any sign of life.
"We have got to get him to the infirmary," pressed Caspian.
"I just need to know for sure that—yes! He's still alive! His pulse is weak, but it's there."
Relief coursed through all of them, as well as renewed urgency. That's when they noticed Aslan had joined them, remarkably quiet for such a large animal. The lion padded around to where Peter lay on the wood planks. What he planned to do was anyone's guess. However, none of them would have imagined merely breathing on Peter. One gentle exhale, enough to ruffle the damp hair. They all watched with bated breath.
Nothing seemed to happen. Yet Aslan stepped back. "He is out of danger, though he will still require much care."
"That's the same thing you did to me, wasn't it?" Caspian asked him. Aslan simply nodded.
"My part here is done. I must return to the forest, but if you ever have need of me again, you only have to seek me out." With that, the great lion strode off toward the road leading out of the city.
"Sire, you requested assistance?" Two guards rushed up with a stretcher between them. Caspian gave his head a shake, his attention dragged back to the present.
"Yes, we need to get this man to the infirmary with all speed. For the rest of you, I will see to it that you have accommodations in the castle, as long as it takes for Peter to recover."
Caspian spotted the discarded shirt, which he draped over Peter's torso to give him some dignity for the time being. Nonetheless, it was frightening how quickly the blood soaked through. They shifted Peter onto the stretcher as carefully as possible, and hurried inside.