A/N: The story is getting a little darker now, mainly thanks to Cifel's violent nature. We're getting closer to the 20's now! I've had to put all my other stories on hold…I keep getting Narnia angst withdrawal and vent my frustration through writing it myself.

This chapter was supposed to be foreboding, but it didn't turn out quite the way I wanted it too. Oh, well. I might re-write a few things in the near future from this chapter…but for now, here is the prototype…

Chapter eighteen

"…ten green bottles, hanging on the wall, and if one green bottle should accidentally fall, there'll be nine green bottles, hanging on the wall! Nine-"

Peter lowered himself carefully down the next crevice, using a rickety branch of a birch tree to ensure his safe grounding on the bottom of the valley. He sighed, and glowered at the back of his younger brother's head, as Edmund continued to sing tunefully at the top of his voice.

"-there'll be eight green bottles, hanging on the wall! Eight-"

"Oh, do give it a rest, Ed. Couldn't you-" Peter broke off to choke slightly, hand on his chest. He was quite out of breath, and his voice came out hoarse and unintentionally scratchy. He leant against a tree as Edmund stopped hollering and turned to face him.

"Sing something else, please?"

Edmund frowned at him, then silently opened his pack without explanation. Peter bit his lip, feeling slightly guilty. He knew what Edmund was looking for, and that he wouldn't find it. Sure enough, Edmund soon began to panic, tipping the entire contents of the pack out and searching through it.

Peter watched him, feeling suddenly tired, eyes drooping slightly and vision becoming unfocused. He reached out blindly as the world suddenly began to spin, nausea rising in his stomach, and sat down heavily on a nearby fallen, moss covered log. Edmund's head snapped up as Peter leant his elbows on his knees to quell their trembling, and rubbed his face, resting his forehead on his palm. He closed his eyes.

There was a silence.

Peter's eyes snapped open and struggled to focus on the dark figure now crouched before him, when it contorted into Edmund's concerned face. Peter grimaced, straightening defensively.

"Peter? Are you alright?"

Edmund scrutinized him, reaching a hand up to check Peter's forehead. Peter slapped it irritably away, carefully rising on unsteady legs.

"I'm fine, just a little tired. And thirsty. How much water do we have left?"

Edmund's eyes narrowed, and he looked at Peter piercingly.

"You're lying."

Peter flushed, stiffening further. It was true, he was lying. But Edmund needn't know how he really felt. It would only worry him. And worrying his little brother was the very last thing he wanted right now.

"I told you, I feel fine!"

"You're ears have gone red. They always do that when you're either embarrassed or lying. So, logically…"

"Oh, shut up. You sound like Susan…okay, so I don't feel on top of the world. It's not that big a deal. I just need a rest, and some water. And I can easily get those."

Edmund pulled a skeptical face, but went to get the water sack nevertheless. Peter breathed a quiet sigh of relief, as his head throbbed dully. He was just dehydrated, and had a slight cough. It really wasn't that serious. Besides-

"Damn it!"

"Edmund! Don't…please, for mother's sake, don't swear."

Edmund ignored him, turning the sack upside down to reveal a certain lack of liquid. He sighed, and glanced about.

"Never mind, I think I heard a stream nearby. It should be clean up here in the mountains, melted snow, you know. I'll be back, and don't you move!"

"Hey! Who died and made you the boss!"

But Edmund had gone, sprinting unevenly back up the valley side to where he had evidently heard the sound of running water. Peter sighed, and carefully sat down in the uncomfortable silence, shivering slightly, though it was not cold. The nausea had passed, replaced by a simple dull thudding pain in his head. He growled slightly, and shook it as though to dispel the pain, but it only pounded worse. He rested his chin on his palm and closed his eyes, listening to the quiet sounds of the forest around him.

He allowed his mind to wander, feeling strangely at ease with the lack of vision, and breathed deeply, smelling the sweet, musty smell which forests always seemed to emit. He smiled slightly as he listened to the light, comforting sounds of small creatures scurrying around in the undergrowth.

Then he frowned, and opened his eyes.

There was an anomaly…something which didn't quite fit in with the rest of the atmosphere. He raised his head and looked around, suddenly clear eyed and alert, but could see nothing out of the ordinary. He had heard something…like the pattering of light rain, drawing closer. But it was too heavy for rain. Like the pounding of many feet on hard packed ground…

"I'm back!"

Peter jumped about three inches off the log, and felt his heart leap in his chest. Edmund had startled him so thoroughly his hand was even halfway to his sword. He glared up at Edmund as said brother rubbed the back of his head and smiled sheepishly.

"Uh…oops?"

Peter huffed, folding his arms indignantly.

"Keep your voice down. We don't want to get noticed."

Edmund snorted in response, gesturing wildly to the world at large.

"Who could possibly notice us here? The trees?"

Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Oh…yeah. Heh. Forgot about that…but nothing's happened so far. They must be nice trees, otherwise we'd already be wolf bait. Anyhow…here."

Edmund handed him the now brimming water sack, and Peter drank deeply from it, feeling the cooling liquid sooth his parched throat. He offered it to Edmund, who shook his head, but replaced it in it's compartment in his traveling pack with care. Then he straightened, turning to Peter with a mischievous smile, hands clasped behind his back. Peter blinked.

"What?"

"Can you just…close your eyes and hold out your hands?"

Peter stared at him, wondering if it was some sort of prank. Edmund had always enjoyed playing tricks oh him, since they were very small. But Peter always responded in kind. He recalled one time when he had stolen Edmund's new tin soldier which their father had given him, in retaliation for a large spider in his bed, and was holding it far out of reach above his head, laughing. He had refused to return it, and Edmund had grown so angry he had seized a candlestick and hit Peter around the head with it.

It had hurt, too. But Peter hadn't been angry. Just confused. He hadn't realized that their father had told Edmund to always protect the soldier like they would in the real military, and that it was a special good-bye present for when their father went to join the home front. That had been in the first of the wars. Edmund also professed to not realizing the candlestick had such sharp edges.

So Edmund forgave Peter, and Peter forgave Edmund.

But Peter didn't think Edmund ever truly forgave himself.

After all, their mother did say afterwards that if one of the claws had been angled just a little further to the left, the doctor said it could have killed him. And their mother promptly told Edmund this, although it hardly helped matters. Edmund simply avoided Peter for months.

And that had hurt more than the candlestick ever could.

"Hello, Peter? Anyone in there?"

Peter jumped slightly, and nodded, sighing exasperatedly, and closed his eyes. He reluctantly held out his hands, wincing in preparation for the undoubted trick about to be played on him.

There was a short pause.

"Stop acting like I'm going to hurt you! You know I wouldn't."

Another silence.

"Don't you?"

Peter nodded silently, fervently wishing he could speak words of encouragement, but he would feel a little silly talking with his eyes closed. He smiled to himself as a thought occurred to him.

"As long as it's not a big, hairy spider, I don't mind."

Edmund laughed a little stiffly, but with genuine amusement, and Peter suppressed a flinch as something soft dropped into his outstretched hands. Peter opened his eyes and glanced down.

Sitting comfortably in his cupped hands was a small posy of brightly coloured blue flowers, with small yellow shades in the centre of each. Tiny closed buds were scattered here and there, and it was tied with what looked like some string from a brown paper package.

Peter blinked, and fingered the delicate petals with a confused, but touched, expression on his pale face.

"What's this in aid of then, Ed?"

Edmund smiled knowingly, and helped his brother clamber off the unsteady fallen tree trunk, hand on his arm. When satisfied his older brother could stand on his own, he replied.

"Oh, nothing really. Just returning a favour, is all."

Peter looked at him quizzically, but Edmund only smiled knowingly, and tapped the side of his nose lightly in a conspiratorial, mysterious manner. Peter laughed lightly, and tucked the small posy into his pack carefully.

"Oh. Well then, thank-"

And then, all hell broke loose.

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Aslan bowed his head, as a cool evening breeze lifted the tent flap with a gentle hand, and sent small blossoms of all colours and hues swirling around the structure.

He looked down at the token the trees had sent him on the wind's breeze. As it was nearly evening, most of the living creatures were sleeping, so he supposed the trees had not wanted to disturb the night by rousing suspicion.

He nudged the three small, coal black feathers with his paw, and immediately felt a great stabbing pain, and then a burning sensation. He sighed, and quickly dispelled the charm, troubled.

This was a grave matter. A grave matter indeed. It could spell disaster for the whole of Narnia, were Lucifel to stray too far from the righteous path.

'Oh my poor, misguided, suffering child. What is to become of us? What will become of this realm, should you fall?'

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Cifel stared down at the disbanded, grey coloured mass streaming below him. The pack had apparently picked up a scent, and were following the trail. He glanced ahead, beating his wings with more strength in order to rise a little, gliding as he mapped out all possible paths ahead.

It was most likely they took the risk of the Ettinsmoor Valley, and judging by approximate physical speed considering they had neither wings nor four legs, they had probably just reached the edge of the forest at the very bottom of the valley. Oh, if only humans had stayed upon all fours!

Sheer rock to the south and the north, a pack of snarling beasts behind, and no escape but a steep incline up a rocky crevice.

Cifel cursed loudly. Damn their lack of foresight! Could they not have seen how many possible attacks, traps and any other God forsaken plans a highly intelligent canine could execute in such a place? Apparently not.

Especially one such as Galgorus.

Cifel put on a sudden burst of speed, intending to meander around a small cluster of mountains in order to veer around to the eastern end of the valley, and provide aid from an unexpected direction…but only if necessary.

After all, if the son's of Adam intended to prove themselves worthy of the thrones in Cair Paravel, they should be able to handle a few smelly doggies.

Just about.

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A/N: It seems we have an emotional stalemate. Both our boys are reluctant to worry the other, so we have a lack of communication. Sorry to leave Peter and Edmund in such mortal peril! Cliffhangers are an author's privilege, I'm afraid. As for the candlestick story...I thought it would be interesting to see it from Peter's POV.

Cifel: (flexes wings while grinning evilly)

Galgorus: Fi fi fo fum, I smell the blood of two Finchley men…

If you don't review, Peter will cry. Seriously. He's on the brink of emotional breakdown, here…