A/N: Peter POV finally appears…hope you like! I will explain how all the characters visions are different later in the story…maybe.

To Astral: My apologies, Cifel was not supposed to have blue hair. It is in fact dark brown. Can't have been thinking straight…I think I confused him with a character from one of my other stories. Sorry! I'll go fix that particular problem now…

And to my other reviewers, thank you so much for your continuing support! I'll shut up and let you read now…

Chapter five

Peter blinked, and was assaulted by a blast of bright light, which shortly faded into lush green and deep blue spattered with red and gold. He threw up his arms to shield his face, and lowered them carefully as his eyes grew used to the tone, then stared around the surrounding landscape.

He had…been here. What seemed like just a moment ago. And yet…it had quite suddenly transformed into an image of aftermath, and not the heat of battle. Corpses of slain Narnian creatures, both of Aslan's army and of the Witch, lay strewn across the field, broken and bleeding. From what Peter could see, the majority of them were, thankfully, from the opposing side.

"What…" he murmured, squinting towards the distant cluster of deep crimson and gold, swaying gently in the breeze. The camp.

How had he come to be here? There had been the witch…Edmund…panic, despair, then…nothing. Darkness. He frowned, and took a step forward, only to stumble and gasp at the strangest feeling as his foot made contact with a large stone.

His foot sunk a little way into the stone before it found solidity. Breathing deeply but rapidly, Peter withdrew his foot and placed it on the grass beside the stone, before pausing in horror.

He was translucent. Semi visible. He could see through his foot to the grass below it.

Willing himself not to panic, Peter drew deeper breaths still and calmed his racing heart. There must be a reasonable explanation. He wasn't…he couldn't be…he daren't even think it. Besides, he hoped…knew…if that were so he would be in Heaven. Besides, he could feel a connection, a pulse, something pulling him back towards the two peaked hills between which the witch's castle sat snugly in a deadly nest. No. He wasn't…dead. Yet. He couldn't be. In fact, he was sure of it. As Susan would say, the whole concept of this was illogical. Impossible. Probably just a dream.

Nevertheless…

Peter began to run, attempting to ignore the queer feeling that his feet were falling straight through the earth. He found he could jump great distances from boulder to boulder, and even run through grasping tree branches without being scratched. Yet he still felt the branches whip through him. It was quite an unsettling thought.

He stumbled to an abrupt halt on the very edges of the camp, and realized he was not at all out of breath. He supposed, if he had no body, it was impossible to be tired. He continued on at a slower pace, frowning. The camp seemed to be deserted, or at least very quiet. Only the very slightest movement occurred, and that was usually the wind causing a flag to toss and turn in the breeze. Peter froze as he heard voices within a tent as he passed it, picking his way through the windbreaker lines.

"Why the sudden hush hush?"

A rustle, and a sigh.

"Aslan is grieved. The two sons of Adam, they've been taken."

A sharp intake of breath.

"You don't mean-"

"Don't be an idiot, Bumbleberry! They're human, they can't die. I mean, taken by the witch. To her castle, so I've heard."

A pause. Someone whispered something, and Peter leant closer to the tent to listen better.

"I hears they both got injured in the battle. The traitor, he sees his brother lying all still like, so he rushes in to save 'im. Wouldn't have happened otherwise."

Peter felt a surge of anger, and the tent billowed ominously around him as his fists clenched.

"Don't you be talking 'bout his majesty like that, Thornbill. He's a good lad, that boy. Scrawny, but a good lad."

"Nevertheless, Thimblehorn, I wouldn't trust the lad as far as I could throw him, and that ain't far with all that armour on. He betrayed his own kin, blood kind, to the witch. Now, what kind of a King would do that?"

Peter, having heard enough, continued on through the camp, noting that every tent seemed to be filled, but no living creature dared to venture outside. He fixed his gaze on the largest tent, Aslan's tent. He felt a stab of confusion mixed with grief. 'Aslan is grieved?' What in the world could that mean?

He was spared of his confusion as the flap in the opening of the great tent was pushed open and quite suddenly, two figures emerged. Peter froze, smiled then rushed to meet them. Susan and Lucy, seemingly quite exhausted, stood for a moment outside the entrance. He stopped short when he heard their raised voices.

"Oh, what are to do, Susan?"

Lucy asked, eyes shining with tears, rubbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her gown. She seemed wretchedly tired, her face marred by tear tracks and her dress covered with patches of dirt. Susan straightened the creases in her own dress, seemingly composing herself before she answered.

"We wait for Aslan to come to a decision."

Lucy let out a choked sob and grasped here elder sister's gown in despair, staring with disbelief up at her.

"You don't mean that! We can't just leave them, sit here like good little girls and wait for the men to do something about it! Susan, they're our brothers!"

Susan wrenched her arm away and turned to head towards their tent, face set in a blank face of impassiveness. Peter started forwards towards her, but thought better of it. It made more sense not to interfere.

"Peter wouldn't want us to get hurt."

"Peter isn't here! We can't just…just…Susan!"

And they were out of sight, hurrying between the sea of red and gold, Lucy struggling to keep up with Susan's longer strides. Peter watched them go, wondering how any of this came to be. He and Edmund…captured by the white witch? But he himself was right here. Did that mean he was not dead after all? If not, where was his body? Where was Edmund?

What in the world was going on?

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Edmund woke with a strangled cry, and sat bolt upright, breathing hard. That was the second time…he had dreamt that dream. He curled around himself, leaning his forehead against his knees, bunching the silken sheets within clenched fists.

Silken…sheets?

Edmund cried out again as he discovered he was lying in an enormous bed in the centre of an elaborately decorated room. It was all colours of blue, with large hung tapestries on the walls, a carved stone floor, but the only furniture in the room was the bed on which Edmund sat. It was a four poster, carved rosewood structure, with thick, midnight blue coloured drapery and sheets. The main sheet was covered in an assortment of embroidered flowers. Edmund fingered what looked like a snowdrop, then shuffled over to the edge of the bed to get a better look at the room.

Just then, the large iron door flew open with a crash, and a young man of about eighteen years rushed in, crimson eyes wild and burgundy hair in disarray. Edmund stared, and backed once again to the middle of the bed. The boy screeched to a halt, then turned to look at Edmund, and smiled gently. Edmund blinked, and watched with trepidation as the young man approached the bed with careful steps.

"My Prince, it's so good to see you are awake and well! How do you feel?"

Edmund stared at the boy, eyes narrowing as he took in his bizarre appearance. He didn't seem at all threatening…but if there was one thing Edmund had learnt from this land, it was to never trust by appearance. The boy seated himself on the edge of the bed and reached out a hand to Edmund.

"Queen Jadis was so concerned, when we found you in the cold like that she thought…"

The boy broke off, sorrow filling his voice. Edmund's eyes narrowed even further and he hopped off the bed, away from the boy, feet spread wide and arms tensed at the ready. The boy appeared surprised by his reaction, then smiled gently once again.

"Oh, I apologise. We haven't yet been introduced."

He jumped with feline grace from the bed, and bowed slightly to Edmund, before straightening and laying a hand over his heart.

"I am Sennjan, personal attendant to the High Queen Jadis. I am honoured to meet you, your Highness."

He bowed once again, and then stood still, apparently awaiting Edmund's reaction. Edmund lowered his arms slightly, suspicious.

"Where am I?"

The boy, Sennjan, as he was supposedly called, smiled and made a sweeping gesture around the room.

"This is the palace of the Queen. You have not been here before, as I recall."

Edmund frowned, and tensed once again. That was a lie. The queen knew perfectly well he had been here before, by her very direction. He glared.

"Don't be stupid, of course I have. I was held prisoner in this very castle just days ago!"

Sennjan's face became troubled and confused, and he stepped towards Edmund, hands held palm outwards in a gesture of peace.

"But, Prince…we found you just yesterday, perished with cold, in a hallucinogenic state, just beyond the palace boundaries. You have no memory of passing out?"

Edmund backed away once more, his back hitting the far wall away from the door. He hadn't passed out on the way from the beaver's house…had he? Surely all that had passed after that hadn't been merely a dream? And yet…it was all so unreal…the images blurred within his mind's eye, memories sifting together hazily. And boys smile was so kind, so warm…

"The queen is so worried…please, Prince, would you lay down?"

Edmund thought hard, and placed a hand on his stomach where the witch's blade had pierced him. At that thought, he shuddered. He lifted the light cotton shirt and stared down at the smooth, unmarked skin beneath it. There was nothing there. No mark, no scar, no injury. It was like it hadn't even happened. Had it happened?

There was a hand on his arm, and Edmund jumped as the boy led him over to the bed. His face held no deception, and Edmund rubbed his temple in confusion. There was nothing…no injury…then it couldn't have happened. Maybe it was better that way, anyhow…now he came to think of it, it was damn near impossible. Prophesies, and a great battle, all within the space of a few days? No. it couldn't be. He must have been dreaming.

The boy helped Edmund get settled back on the bed, then sat himself once again on the edge, waiting. Edmund watched him uncomfortably, reluctant to do anything with the other boy in the room. Sennjan smiled slightly, and retrieved a small wooden instrument, with two shafts like a tuning fork.

"Prince Edmund," he said, uncertainly "would you like to hear a song? It may help you sleep. I apologise, my skills are nowhere near as high as they really should be, but…"

Edmund scrutinized the boy's face, then nodded very slowly. He was rather tired. Exhausted, even. And he wanted to forget the terrible nightmare…if indeed that was what it had been. It had seemed so real, though…as the boy put the flute to his lips, Edmund suddenly burst out.

"My family! Where are they? Are they safe?"

The boy frowned, and lowered the flute, thinking.

"Your brother, and sisters?"

Edmund nodded, suddenly far more alert. He had left them at the beavers house. What if what had occurred in the dream had really happened? Peter could be dead, Susan and Lucy lost…

"Do not fear. The queen sent out a search party to inform them of your whereabouts. You should sleep, Prince. Don't worry. They are perfectly safe."

Edmund blinked, and lay back, trying to relax. After all, what possible harm could they come to here, in Narnia?

And as the boy began to play, and Edmund began to drift into sleep, he thought no more of his family, the witch, or great battles fought or not. And, far below him, beneath the earth in the courtyard, a small shaft of light filtered through a tiny crack in the masonry, and fell upon the unmoving hand lying, cold and limp, on the intricate patterns carved into the raised structure. And any creature which would deign to look, would see that they were not a simple mismatched trail of wild flowers, but all of one kind.

Forget me nots.

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A/N: Sennjan is Cifel, by the way. Phew…longest chapter yet. To explain Edmund's sudden acceptance of it all being a dream, he is reluctant to accept the true events because, let's face it, anybody would rather believe something like that didn't happen. Also, the healing magic the witch gave to him (remember, way back at the end of the battle?) is slowly gaining influence over him. Oh yeah, and Cifel is NOT supposed to have blue hair. As for his alternate name Sennjan, when the story is in Edmund's POV, he is known as Sennjan because that is what Edmund calls him. Sorry for the confusion!

Now, as promised, the dreams: Edmund dreams of the past, which is contorted by events of the present. What happens to each of the characters, and what may happen, is reflected in Ed's dreams. For instance, the spade was symbolic of Peter's childhood, and the swap to a sword represents him growing up. Does that make sense? As for Peter's 'dreams', it's hard to explain without spoiling the story…I'll let you know later!

Please review!