A/N: Alright, alright! Update! Jeez…woah, over 100 reviews! (pops party popper). The story is getting a little darker now, mainly thanks to Cifel's violent nature. We're almost to twenty chapter 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.

He he…I am SO evil…a MASSIVE thanks to all who reviewed! I really appreciate all the encouragements and helpful comments! It is very useful to hear which bits you enjoyed the most…

This chapter POV sort of skips about erratically. It may be a little confusing, but it's supposed to make the scene more realistic.

WARNING: Massacre and carnage, slight insanity. Literally. You didn't think I'd let up on the angst, did you?

Chapter nineteen

The world around them erupted into a frenzy of noise. Snarls and howls pierced the solemn quiet, and the foliage was torn apart as huge, arch backed creatures bounded into the clearing, hackles raised. Peter and Edmund found themselves pressed tightly back to back, and both looked down in surprise to find they had automatically drawn their swords, which were clutched painfully tight in white knuckled fists.

Apparently the instinct of war had already been stirred within them.

Peter only felt a numb, cold panic, which somehow didn't penetrate higher than his chest. He felt strangely light headed, and he saw time slow as though his brain was having trouble processing the information which struck him in the face.

They were surrounded. The wolves, ten dozen or so, circled predatorily, and seemed almost to leer with a malicious sadistic intent. As though of one mind, Peter and Edmund both raised their swords with two hands, and although they were held steady, they both shuddered more with revulsion and tension than fear.

After all, grown men fear no evil. Only the evil within themselves.

Peter watched as the largest wolf, a massive, heavily muscled creature, seemed almost to swagger forwards, it's powerful body flexing as it did so. His eyes narrowed, and he quickly maneuvered himself around so Edmund was facing away from the oncoming monster.

"Greetings, humans."

The last word was spat, and the wolf's voice was soft and hoarse; but every syllable intoned malice. Peter stared unblinkingly into the creature's eyes, clear blue facing off against deep, sharded gold. China blue blinked, and resurfaced darkened; a stormy grey hue. Both sets of eyes narrowed, and Peter felt his uncertainty flee from him. And he was left with nothing but cold hatred.

"I, Galgorus, Captain of the Secret Police, am here to arrest and escort you by order of Jadis, Queen of Narnia. Will you yield, Son of Adam?"

Peter's lips curled upwards, in what was a perfectly uncharacteristically twisted smile. He slowly raised the gleaming blade which rested so comfortably in his palm, as though it was an extension of his very body. He hardened his resolve as he brandished the sword at the wolf.

"Do you see this blade?"

He saw his father's face, cold and pale, and terrified. He felt the bitter resentment, the hatred towards his killers. He saw Edmund, agony coursing through his dark eyes, as a silvery wand is wrenched from him and he falls like a rag doll. He saw his mother, staring up at him with eyes on the brink of insanity, her strength lost. A shell of a woman.

And felt strong.

"This is the blade upon which Maugrim fell."

His voice sounded so foreign to his own ears. It was soft, and melodious, as though singing some deadly, poisonous song. He could feel Edmund turn to watch him, feel his dark eyes looking at him in confusion, in uncertainty. He reached down with his free hand and clasped Edmund's in his own, their fingers interlocking, and held it firmly.

"Get out of my way," he let the sword fall to a horizontal path, directed straight at Galgorus' heart "or I will kill you."

There was no emotion; no uncertainty, no trace of remorse, and Edmund squeezed Peter's hand in silent question.

Galgorus snarled and tensed, then blinked for a fraction of a second.

And Peter lunged.

He didn't even watch where his blade was going. All he could see was flumes of bloody crimson, swirling upwards like grotesque ribbons, and the petrified howls of the creatures as he tore through their ranks, Edmund clearing the path of remaining opposition behind him.

Their hands were clasped so tightly they could practically feel their bones creak and ache under the pressure.

And then they were running, flying over the ground, tearing and weaving between trees as the erratic pounding of padded feet drew closer behind them, mirroring the beating of their own hearts. Peter stumbled, and almost fell, a pair of jaws snapping at his feet as he did so. Edmund dragged him upright and put on a determined burst of speed, and suddenly he was the one pulling Peter along.

It was like a dream. Their movements seemed sluggish as the world scurried on past, although not uncaring of their plight. Trees seemed to bend themselves out of the way, and then spring back to lash at the oncoming beasts, but to no avail. The wolves were gaining, fast.

They had cleared the edges of the forest; they could see the steep, rocky incline leading up to the top of the valley, and scrambled up. Unevenly stumbling over pointed boulders and sheer, vertical cliff faces. Peter could feel his lungs burning with exertion, and his limbs ache with fatigue. The wolves mimicked their path, led by Galgorus, who bent his powerful hind legs and sprang upwards, jaws widening, then brought them down together with crushing force.

Peter felt his ankle splinter and then shatter under the force of the wolf's jaws, and felt a wave of agony course up his spine. Black spots swirled in front of his vision, and he let out a quiet, almost silent cry of pain as Galgorus used the additional leverage to toss Peter violently to one side. Peter went slack with shock.

And his hand was wrenched away from Edmund's.

He hit the ground with a bone jarring jolt, and his head hit the sharp edge of a boulder with a sickening smack.

He vaguely heard Edmund's terrified shout of his name, then a gut wrenching scream of pain which echoed around the darkness of his fading consciousness. He weakly opened his eyes.

To see nothing but a misty, crimson haze obscuring his vision.

With a last despairing sob that mirrored the anguish tearing at his soul, Peter Pevensie fell into darkness.

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Cifel stood at the ridge at the top of the valley, hidden behind the shadow of a nearby boulder. The sun was setting now, and the valley plunged into a fiery haze. He watched impassively as the eldest son of Adam fell, and almost winced in sympathy as he heard the resounding crack as his head struck the cliff face. He scolded himself briefly, and returned once more to calculated, logical precision.

The youngest son of Adam had blindly made a frenzied attempt to reach his brother, turning away from salvation in the process. Apparently he would rather face death united than escape unscathed. Cifel felt again that gnawing weight in his stomach, but paid it no heed, watching emotionlessly as Galgorus whirled about and sprang once more.

His eyes widened as Galgorus sunk his clawed paws into the human's back, then brought his jaw down over the boy's right shoulder with a vicious grip.

There was a haunting cry, and a scream, and Cifel shivered.

The boy and the wolf both fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Galgorus tore away from the boy's shoulder, and it appeared he took some of his prize with him. Even from his vantage point, Cifel could see the blood pouring from the tear, staining the dark cloak a deep crimson colour.

And the boy….Edmund…scrambled back to his feet, hand clutching his shoulder tightly, and continued on his stumbled journey to his brother's limp form.

Cifel blinked, impressed. The pain must be unbearable, especially for a human's heightened senses. He felt a sudden stab of anxiety.

They were only children, after all. Perhaps…

No. They had a duty, he himself had a duty. He had to remain neutral. If these boy's were truly destined to take the thrones of Cair Paravel, they first had to be able to earn it. They would have to face far worse perils than this, were they to become rulers of this country.

And take his place, of course. But he wouldn't yield it without a fight. And he himself was far, far more formidable than Galgorus. Even the white witch.

He smiled bitterly, and leant casually against the cold surface of the boulder, folding his arms. He watched as the pack closed in around the two Son's of Adam, Galgorus pursuing the youngest with arrogant ease. Edmund fell to the ground, apparently defeated at last.

This should prove interesting.

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Edmund was lying still, in an endless sea of black. His limbs would not respond to his wishes, and the dark pressed in on him oppressively. There was nobody here. He was alone. Without pain, without emotion. He was safe.

And cold.

There was a numb, dull ache in his shoulder, but when he glanced down at it he saw nothing but unblemished material. He frowned, and attempted to move it, to no avail. He dropped back against the solid ground far beneath him, and blinked drowsily up at the black.

"I'm not…afraid…Galgorus."

The pain in his shoulder grew. The voices crackled in and out like a broken record, indistinct. A single, familiar tone penetrated his conciousness and sent a sudden stab of fear flaring from the pit of his stomach, coursing white fire through his veins.

And his eyes snapped open.

He was lying awkwardly on his side, leaning against something hard and sharp which was digging into his back. He blinked, as the world before him slid in and out of focus, before settling at a lopsided angle. He lifted his head carefully and winced as his neck gave a twinge of discomfort.

"Pathetic runt. Do you really believe you stand a chance?"

A dull, soft chuckle.

"I killed Maugrim, and he was your superior. It's you who doesn't stand a chance."

Edmund levered himself up onto one elbow, and a sudden burst of agony shot through his upper torso like licking flames. He suppressed a yelp of pain, and bit down on his lower lip hard, feeling the split well with blood and fill his mouth with the bitter, coppery taste. His eyes widened as he craned his neck to look down at his shoulder.

There were two large tears which could be seen sandwiched between deep crimson, soaked slips of jagged material. Smaller punctures littered the upper side, and as Edmund attempted to role his shoulder, he could feel small incisions sting beside his shoulder blade. There was congealed, crusted scabs filling the tears, which were now cracked and letting forth trickles of salty blood due to Edmund's recent movement.

He suppressed the nausea, and bile rising in his throat, clapping a hand to his mouth as his head fell back to the ground with a soft thud. He felt his windpipe constrict, but held it down, clenching his eyes tightly shut.

"And pray tell, how will you bring me down when your weapons are guarded by my soldiers?"

Edmund forced his eyes open, to see the tensed figure of Galgorus a fair few yards away, fur standing on end and hind legs crouched as though ready to pounce. His lips were drawn back in a snarl, hackles raised, his golden eyes slitted and glimmering with a demented bloodlust. Edmund glanced down, to see Peter's sword lying discarded by his side, gleaming dully in the fading light. He raised his head again and followed the wolf's line of sight, and felt his heart leap.

Peter, but it didn't look at all like his brother. He had a horrendous gash on the left side of his head, the blood seeping through his golden hair and staining it crimson. Rivulets of the liquid had streamed down his face and dried like tears on his cheeks. The top of his cheekbone was bruised black and outlined in a sickening blue hue, and his lip was split and scabbed.

He was stiff backed, resolute and emanated sheer confidence. But in his eyes, there was something hidden behind shifting hues of stormy blue. Something Edmund did not like.

Hopelessness.

"I don't need a sword. If need be, I'll snap your neck with my bare hands."

The voice was steady, but trembled slightly with an inner weakness which spoke volumes to Edmund. He blinked, and suddenly the resolve had flickered, then died. Replaced with a flare of terror. The mask had broken, and Peter was nothing more than a frightened child. Edmund recalled a little boy, clutching a posy of flowers, eyes spilling salty, despairing tears from china blue eyes.

And Galgorus advanced, then sprang.

Edmund didn't stop to think; he could see nothing but those wide, terrified blue eyes, and the sadistic, golden ones of Galgorus. He reacted purely from instinct, and somehow, he was on his feet, Peter's sword clutched tightly in his hand. He sped forwards, ignoring the pulsating waves of utter agony rolling across his senses.

Galgorus was going to kill Peter.

Peter was going to die.

Peter . was . going . to . die.

No.

Not while Edmund's heart still beat in his chest, and he drew breath. They had been through so much, come so far. They couldn't just give up hope now.

It would break Edmund's heart if he failed Peter again.

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A/N: Peter went a little crazy in there. When he was threatening Galgorus, I wanted to convey just how war, and the suffering it brings, changes people. He'll be fine, though. He has reached emotional breaking point, so I wanted to show him going a bit insane as a result of that. Unconventional, but nobody, not even Peter, is perfect.

(Jumps up and down in excitement) Oh, this is so great! I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it! Share in the love for Narnia, and give thanks to our highly revered lord, CS Lewis!

For details on what precisely is wrong with Edmund: first he was bitten by Galgorus, but it wasn't a clean tear. It ripped half his shoulder off (ouch!), so getting up wasn't the best thing he could have done in his condition. There is also the possibility of infection…ooh, so many choices…Cifel is being a bit of a bastard, refusing to help and all…

Cifel: (mutters) I'm good, I'm evil, I'm nice, I'm nasty. Make your bloody mind up!

Galgorus: Must…maul…Finchley…flesh…

I hope everyone who has been wondering what I had planned for Edmund is happy now.

Peter and Edmund: (cower)

For every review I receive, I'll give another recovery potion to our boys. And hell, people, do they need them! (this doesn't mean the angst will let up. It merely means they'll be well rested to take another beating in the next chapter…maybe…if you're good, and review…oh, take the hint already!)