A/N: Extra special treat for you guys! I figured chapter twenty should be especially long to celebrate. Enjoy!
Wow, I seem to be killing quite a few of my reviewers…everyone's keeps dying from angst and evil cliffhangers…oh well, that's encouraging, in a twisted way. Strangely, we studied evacuation in History class today, and when asked to state some interesting facts about it, I replied:
'Children were sent to big, weird houses with scary professors and normal house appliances leading to parallel symbolic universes!'
And my teacher replied:
'Much as I like Narnia, ohcEEcho, that wasn't quite the answer I was looking for.'
Where is the appreciation! When I become a teacher, I'm going to have compulsory Narnia viewing! I will avenge this insult!
Ahem…
Well, anyway…
Chapter twenty
There was a glint of metal, a wispy swishing sound as the blade swung through the air, and a sickening crunching sound.
Then silence.
Cifel let out a low chuckle as he watched the shower of blood rise high into the air above the cleanly cut stump which was all that was left of Galgorus' neck. The head flew upwards, curved in a graceless arc, and hit the ground, rolling to a stop right beside the eldest son of Adam.
Peter extended his uninjured leg to viciously kick it away from him in disgust, apparently with all of his remaining strength, as he slumped to the floor soon afterwards. Cifel laughed out loud as he saw the look of utter revulsion on the boy's face, then his smile fell.
The other wolves, enraged, were closing in.
He sighed exasperatedly, rolled his eyes and unfolded his arms as his wings stretched wide, powerfully carrying him on the oncoming wind of the night. He soared downwards like a grotesque shadow descending, figure hidden in shadow as two sparkling crimson eyes glittered maliciously in the darkness.
Blood would be spilt upon the valley floor tonight.
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Peter sat beside a dozen limp, cold corpses, and found he cared not how, or who, had caused their end. The shadowy figure had left as soon as it had come, and Peter wondered vaguely if it had all been a dream.
But it couldn't be.
Edmund's trembling, unconscious body in his arms was simply too sickeningly real for him to grasp any futile hope that this was some illusion.
He could see nothing but a pair of china blue eyes, instead of dark brown, and a petrified, blood spattered uniform as the full grown man clung to the dream of life. Peter felt as if his heart would burst, as if he would crumble and shatter under the pressure rising in his chest.
But Edmund needed him.
He couldn't save father. Nor mother, from her insanity. Nor Susan. Nor Lucy. But he could save Edmund.
And with that, Peter emptied himself of all emotion and became nothing more than a practical, logical vessel. This gash needed binding. So much blood. Crusted everywhere, pooling beneath them. But it could be stopped. It would heal given clean bandages and regular washing, and everything would work out fine. Edmund would sit up and grin at him, and tell him what a brick-headed idiot he was for worrying so.
Yes. Everything would be alright, as long as they were together.
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"No…can't, won't…I won't yield…"
Peter wiped Edmund's sweat soaked forehead with a cloth he had improvised from ripping the tail of his shirt off. He reached with shaking hands to envelope the soft material with liquid from the water sack, and wrung it out, replacing it on his little brother's head.
He stared hopelessly at the makeshift bandages wrapped tightly around Edmund's shoulder, took a deep breath, and buried his face in his hands, clawing at his cheeks and feeling his eyes sting.
"Wasn't my fault…Peter…wouldn't…no!"
Peter reached out and stroked the dark hair back from Edmund's forehead with a shaking hand, repeating the motion, calming both of them at the same time.
"S'alright, Ed."
He murmured, his voice thick and scratchy, and he coughed deeply, feeling his throat ache and tickle.
"It's okay. You're going to be alright. Shhh."
His voice steadied as he swallowed, and he was stuck by sudden inspiration as Edmund leaned into his hand, and then frowned as Peter stopped talking. Peter blinked, and smiled fondly, recalling how he used to get Edmund to fall asleep after the nightmares struck.
"Oh, yeah. You miss all the stories, then? You used to say they were silly, but you liked them really, hmm? I thought as much. That's okay. I enjoyed telling them, too. I always knew you weren't really asleep, you know. You snore."
He chuckled lightly to himself as Edmund relaxed, his feverish mutterings growing quieter before fading completely, and he shifted slightly in his sleep as Peter continued to caress his hair and talk in soft tones.
"No really, you do. Not terribly loudly, like Nana. You know, I used to think there was a tiger coming up the stairs growling when she came to stay overnight. Seriously, sounded worse than a train's foghorn."
Edmund had stopped shivering, and lay still, his breathing deepening. Peter smiled and watched him as he continued.
"You never did hear the endings of any of the stories though, did you? Well, I'll tell you a secret."
Peter leant down to put his head next to Edmund's ear, and whispered softly as Edmund's breathing evened out completely and his head rolled slowly to the side.
"I didn't either. Fell asleep before I could finish."
He pressed a light kiss to Edmund's temple, and sat up, reaching up to unclasp his ripped cloak to tuck it carefully around his little brother, smiling down at Edmund's face, innocent and relaxed in sleep despite cheeks flushed from fever.
He would think no more of despair tonight. He would still be watching over Edmund when the dawn broke, and they could begin their long journey to the coast.
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Hours had passed. The silence of the darkening wood went undisturbed, the air still as the undisturbed surface of the lake around the witch's castle. Peter sat quite still, unmoving from his quiet vigil at his brother's side.
"Just how do you expect to save this country, if you can't even save yourselves?"
Peter turned slowly to see the boy…Lucifel, if he remembered correctly, languishing upon a nearby fallen log as though it was a jeweled throne. He rested his chin in his cupped hands, and bore a distinctly arrogant, impolitely disinterested expression. Peter studied the other boy closely. He had seen him only once or twice, and it seemed Lucifel changed drastically with each meeting. He considered for a moment, then spoke.
"Last time we met, you were sending us to freedom from the witch's clutches. And now, you seem to feel neither remorse nor pride for that. And now, you sit by and refuse to lift a finger to help."
Cifel stared unblinkingly at him, the smile having left his face. This boy…was very different from his brother. His very aura radiated a desire to understand, yet a balanced will. Strange how even those of one flesh and one blood could become the very antithesis of each other.
After all, Edmund probably would have stabbed him by now, injury or no.
Peter returned his gaze with a clear, unreadable stare of his own, and continued in a polite tone, which betrayed none of his thoughts.
"So tell me, Lucifel, or Cifel, or Sennjan. Which is your true face? And why must you continue to plague us with your deception?"
Cifel said nothing, but stood from the fallen tree, making his way carefully over to stand above Peter, eyes narrowed, staring down ominously with a fiery gaze. Peter, who did not feel inferior despite the fact he had to crane his neck very uncomfortably to look Cifel in the eyes, stood his ground.
"My business is my own, as is my disposition. I would suggest you look to your own, Son of Adam. Continue to pry, and there may be…unpleasant consequences."
It was perfectly even, but the underlying threat did not escape Peter, who remained unmoved and unimpressed. Who was this boy, to waltz in and out of their lives, doing with them as he pleased? Did he think it was all a game, made purely for his amusement?
"So now you're angry? Why? I doubt you even know, do you?"
Peter turned back to Edmund, placing a hand gently on his brother's forehead, brushing his dark hair carefully away from his forehead to feel the rising heat on his clammy skin. He closed his eyes and lowered his head.
"Either state your purpose, or leave us. You have no right to play the hand of God. If you come only to spite our helplessness, don't bother. I already fully understand that we have little, or even no, hope. But that's enough for me. And I need no enemy, or indeed ally, to sway me otherwise."
Cifel studied the human's bent form, studying the slumped posture, yet head now raised in quiet, strong defiance. He had to admit, he was…surprised. The boy wasn't simply in denial of the situation, but truly had sincere faith in he and his brother's chances.
"Have no fear, I'll be leaving soon. But your brother needs my aid, lest he die before the dawn breaks. You know this, don't you?"
Peter swallowed thickly, feeling anger rising in his throat, only to be quashed by the sudden wave of cold desperation as he looked down at his brother's again sweat soaked face and flushed cheeks.
"What do you want me to do? Beg? I will, if it'll save my brother. But it'll be my victory, either way. No matter what you do, you will have proved your own weak hearted lack of self respect."
Cifel blinked, and then smiled, raising an eyebrow as he slid to the ground, nudging Peter aside and studying Edmund's pallor with a small frown. Peter blinked.
"Shouldn't you tend to your own injuries first? Your arm…" Peter's eyes widened "what the hell happened to it? It looks like it was twisted right out of alignment…"
Cifel looked vaguely down at his arm, and shook his head.
"You are very observant, but your concern is not appreciated. I don't like to involve myself in other people's business too deeply, it leads to…complications."
"I think you already have, whether you realized or wanted to or not. What are you running from?"
"What…do you mean, son of Adam?"
"Just…my mother, she…she's been running from reality for a long time now. She doesn't have the strength to face the truth, so she hides behind a façade of hope. But you have no hope. You lost it long ago, didn't you?"
Cifel said nothing.
"I know. I can see the hunger in your eyes. Why are you so afraid, when you have nothing to fear but yourself? I would like to know why you are helping us before put my little brother's life into your hands. "
"Fear not. I have no harmful intentions towards either of you; I swear upon my creator's heart, as I do not have one of my own."
Peter looked at him uncertainly, but for the first time, Cifel's eyes were unguarded, and emanated sincerity. Peter slowly nodded, eyes not leaving the face of the other.
Cifel touched the back of his hand to Edmund's cheek, fingering the hastily tied bandages which Peter had applied and tutting slightly, much to Peter's aggravation. He drew back, and reached inside his tunic, retrieving an empty vial not unlike the ones he had given to Edmund at their last meeting. He held it in the palm of his hand and curled his fingers tightly around it, obscuring it completely from view, and clenched it tightly.
When he opened his palm again, the vial was filled with an amber coloured, translucent liquid. Peter watched as Cifel pulled out the stopper and held it above Edmund's slightly open mouth, before tipping it to allow four small drops fall into his mouth.
"Won't he need to swallow?"
Peter asked. Cifel rolled his eyes.
"My powers need no stimulation. It will take effect upon physical contact."
While Peter moved to watch Edmund's face, Cifel unwrapped the ripped shreds of Peter's cloak, now stained a dark crimson, and held a hand, palm down and fingers spread wide, a few inches above the gashes in Edmund's shoulder.
While Peter checked his brother's forehead for signs of the now receding fever, Cifel hastily sent a pulse of warm, healing waves down towards the inflicted area. He watched carefully as the area began to steam slightly, and sky coloured sparks of electric blue magic weaved themselves across the gashes, knitting the skin and mending the bone with a light hissing sound.
"The fever's broken."
Cifel glanced up to an exhausted, weak but joy filled smile colour the boy's previously pale and haggard face. Although he was covered in blood and grime, he suddenly appeared the most magnificently pure, selfless creature Cifel had known in a long time. Unconsciously, he felt a sincere smile at seeing such hope mar his own face, and quickly schooled his features back to impassive disregard. He cocked his head to the side, and grinned lazily as Peter turned to look at him, smile wavering slightly.
" You are a wise, strong and sweet hearted boy. Very much unlike your brother, might I add. But there is nothing left to be done for me, I'm afraid. You see, I died a long time ago."
He looked upwards, letting out a long, slow, breath, eyes closing and lips curving upwards in a bitter smile. After a moment, he lowered his head to look one last time at Edmund's prone form.
"He fought well. And he truly loves you. It causes him more pain than any injury ever could, you know. I do believe he could learn to love this land with the same pure sincerity. At least, I hope so."
He placed a hand lightly on Edmund's shoulder, and Peter looked on in slight confusion as Cifel bowed his head.
"Verily, I salute thee, Son of Adam, Sir Edmund the Just of Heart."
He rose to his feet, gave a slight incline of his head to Peter as he turned.
"I know not whether we shall meet again. I bid you farewell, High King, Sir Peter Wolfsbane, of Joyous Magnificence."
A cloud scurried across the face of the moon, and all the surrounding area was plunged into darkness. Peter stared at the spot where Cifel had last been standing, and continued to look for a long time after the moon shed light upon the darkened wood once again. After a few moments, he exhaled in a long, streaming gust of warm breath which spiraled upwards through the cold night air, and turned his attention back to the still form beside him.
If he hadn't been such a weak minded fool, Edmund wouldn't have tried to kill the white witch. Peter would be dead, and Edmund would probably be safe and warm in the professor's house, with Susan and Lucy, happily growing up in comfort and love.
Without him.
But they didn't need him. Not anymore.
Why would they? He had failed them. Every single one of them. Edmund so much so, he had been led to betray them. He had done nothing but reprimanded and spited Susan, and doubted Lucy's unending honesty in favour of bloody logic.
And father wouldn't be dead.
He had killed his own father. If he hadn't been there, his father would never have broken cover. Susan, Lucy, and Edmund's father. He was a murderer.
"Oh, Ed…"
Peter gathered Edmund into his arms, and clutched his brother's head to his chest, resting his chin on Edmund's dark hair; feeling his heart constrict with innumerable emotions, his hands fisting themselves in the damp, blood soaked material of Edmund's shirt.
"You're such an idiot…"
His voice broke with the last word, and he buried his face in his little brother's neck, salty tears mixing and becoming lost within the coppery essence of blood. He rocked them both gently, just as Edmund had done for him, and as he had done before more times than he could recall.
"Why would you risk your life for me? I'm not worth it, I'm…you're…"
His knees gave way, and they both sank to the floor, as sobs wracked Peter's hunched frame, quietly releasing him from his seemingly endless sorrow.
And it seemed as if the world grieved with him, as the first drops of Spring rain began to fall.
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A/N: Peter finally broke under the pressure. Peter angst imminent, now we've had a lot of Edmund pain. I wrote the end of this at midnight in my room, while I was supposed to be asleep. Then got caught by my mum. She tried to take my notebook away, and now I'm in deep, deep trouble. Ah well. Ironic Synchronity is well worth the pain! Besides, she might have tried to read it…
And yes, Cifel is a bastard. I know. I wrote him that way to allow for character development…he's come a long way already. His powers will be explained at some point in the near future.
Cifel: (dons brand new wolf fur hat with sadistic grin) I sewed it myself!
Galgorus: WTF! You killed me off! You little- (is stabbed)
Angst, angst, angst. We all love angst! Disturbingly, I wrote this while listening to 'the best of bond'. I am now convinced at my own long suspected insane mental state.
Okay, so Peter's already crying…um…(thinks of possible threats) oh! I'll…uh…kill off mister Tumnus! Yeah. Wait, that's evil! Well then…I'll…do…something…which you won't like!
Oh, just review…