A/N: Yay, 200 reviews! There was trouble over the last chapter. Not sure what happened, but I decided to let it calm down and took this chapter off for a couple of hours. Sorry! I didn't want to screw it up anymore, though…
Besides, I wanted to make a few changes…wasn't too happy with it, but now it's much better!
This chapter pov hops about faster than a grasshopper on a boiling brick, and contain quite a bit of confusing, and sometimes insane, trails of thoughts. Bear with it.
Anyhoo…
Chapter twenty seven
Lucy watched with dull, emotionless eyes as the Narnian creatures prepared for war once again. She had the most incredible sense of deja-vu. Oh, how she wished Peter and Edmund were here, or even father, or mother. Or Susan. But they were all, one way of another, facing problems of their own.
And she could learn to shoulder the weight of her own troubles.
She had to.
Children grew up so fast when presented with opportunities to do so. Parents spend so much time sheltering their young, they do not notice-or perhaps they do not wish to- when they cease to be young anymore. Lucy certainly had always felt that she was devalued somewhat.
But here, in a camp of war, that mattered very little.
She went over once again the plan of combat she had concocted, along with Aslan and the subordinate to the late centaur general, Vorian. She cared little for the details of the left flank, the main body etc, but she was very much intrigued by her own part in the proceedings.
Only to discover she had none.
'Battles are ugly affairs. I do not wish for you to fight.'
But was not the battle. This was another, completely different affair. So she would be doing no wrong by doing her own meager part, by helping to revive fallen allies. Even if it meant being exposed to the fire of the enemy. She had seen so much, now, and felt so much. She knew she could handle it.
Just like in their childhood games, when they were little.
She had watched with envy from her playpen when she was very small, as her siblings became lost in a fantasy world. Peter was nearly always the hero, brandishing a wooden spoon attached to a frying pan with enthusiastic valour. Susan, as the only available girl, often ended up as the damsel in distress. She would creep upstairs and 'borrow' one of their mother's feathered hats, and sit atop father's armchair with rather much less enthusiasm.
Edmund had always got a thrill from being the dark knight; he would hold a walking stick aloft with a very realistic evil grin on his face, and promptly joust with Peter for the 'damsel's' freedom. Peter won, of course. Always. And then they would leave the room to search for other great deeds to accomplish (mainly involving the larder), leaving Lucy alone in the quiet front room.
Once Lucy was old enough to play with them, they seemed at a loss for what to do. The first time Lucy joined in, Peter had handed her the wooden spoon and proclaimed that she was now the heroine. He was always doing things like that. Eventually, however, Peter grew bored of just sitting out.
"Hey, Lu! How about we try something new?"
Lucy could still hear her eldest brother's excited voice, as he ran to fetch the tea cosy and placed it carefully on her head, making sure her ears were tucked in. Then he grinned, and suddenly staggered back with a fake cry of horror.
"Oh, no! A dragon!"
Lucy had seen pictures of dragons in her books in the playpen. They roared, she knew. And were very majestic. So she grinned back, and roared viciously, to which Susan nearly toppled off the armchair.
Soon, Susan grew too old for such things. She spent her time dressing up dolls instead, taking joy in buttoning up their little pinafores and skirts. Lucy, however, hated them. Hated their simpering smiles and rosy, unnatural red cheeks.
She much preferred playing dragons and knights with her brothers.
She had heard her neighbors commenting on how wild she was, how nice little girls didn't roll around in the mud or play football with their brother's. But she didn't care. All she knew was that she far preferred being outside in the rain than sipping tea in the kitchen on such days, as her sister did.
But when she started school, things changed.
Peter and Edmund seemed uncomfortable playing with her; said she couldn't come with them when they went out with their friends.
"Honestly, Lu, you wouldn't enjoy it."
Peter had said, hand on her shoulder, muddy football tucked under his arm, Edmund standing at the gate, knees grazed.
"But I want to go with you! I promise I'll be good."
Peter had bitten his lip and stood, a sympathetic smile on his face. She had scowled then.
"Because I'm a girl?"
Peter's reply was cut off by Edmund's shout of frustration, and he had turned, flashing one last smile before running down the path to join his brother. He called back over his shoulder as he went:
"I'll read you a story later, okay? Find a book you like! Back soon! Come on, Ed…"
Lucy had watched them go, a lump in her throat, but refusing to let the tears fall. She didn't cry.
But after that day, she had felt so horribly alone.
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As Edmund hit the water, the world feel strangely quiet about him. The numb, perishing cold of the river seeped through his skin, stiffened his muscles, but he continued to swim as well as he could. He was a little unsteady, but as he thought of the beast somewhere below him, his strength redoubled and he pushed himself harder.
The water was roaring in his ears, just as it had done that day at the beach. But he felt none of the fear he had experiences then. None of the pain. Because this time he had a true purpose.
Peter.
And Edmund smiled, despite the terrible cold which enveloped him and the weight of his sodden clothes dragging him down. He pushed yet harder, forcing his body to move forwards against the rushing torrent which fought so hard to send him hurtling down into the depths of the river.
Not yet.
He had one more thing he had to do.
Edmund could feel his strength leaving him, and turned frantically to see he was a good way away from the boat, where he could just make out Peter, staring after him with terrified eyes. A dark shape loomed below him, and Edmund broke his brother's china blue, tear filled gaze to meet two crimson eyes glaring menacingly up at him.
Edmund felt no pain, no fear, no…well, perhaps a little sadness.
He never did tell Peter he loved him, in so many words. But he thought, he hoped…even a little…that Peter understood, somehow.
Edmund's limbs failed him, and he slipped downwards below the rushing skin of the river, his world turning to darkness. It wouldn't be long now. The icy cold pressed oppressively against him, and his lungs began to burn.
He welcomed the chilling tendrils of ice which wrapped slowly, almost lovingly, around his heart, and squeezed.
But he was not afraid, even as it consumed him.
He had made his choice.
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Peter could hardly see a thing through a haze of tears.
He just couldn't stop. No matter how he tried to tell himself, force himself, he just couldn't stop crying.
His little, baby brother was out there. In the water. About to die a horrible, horrible death within the murky depths, alone.
For Peter.
'For me.'
And Peter screamed. He trembled and cried in anguish, every hurt, every pressure, every pent up emotion streaming from him in a rush of pure agony.
"EDMUND!"
He leant right out over the side of the boat, helplessly tearing the water apart with one hand as though it would somehow unearth dark hair or somber, dark eyes. He wanted nothing else. He needed nothing more.
He would have died in that moment, just to have Edmund beside him again.
He dug his hand into the side of the boat until he could feel the bones splinter under the pressure. He stared about the dark waves so quickly he swayed on his feet, head spinning.
And the tears still poured down his cheeks, the only release the pain could find within Peter's broken body.
"No…Edmund…no, no, no…"
He whispered hoarsely to himself, the waters slowly calming about him. And then he slowly raised his head, and stared upstream.
And his eyes met Edmund's. He couldn't breath. He couldn't think. His heart had stopped beating in his chest, waiting. He only continued to murmur to himself, his voice failing him as it faded to a mere sigh.
"Edmund, Edmund, Edmund…"
He began to choke on his own breath, slumped over the side of the boat, barely able to hold his head up. The world span wearily about him. He sobbed wretchedly, the tears still falling without resent. He could see nothing but Edmund's cold, blank, painfully accepting dark eyes.
And then, little Edmunds eyes fluttered closed as though he was still a child drifting off to a peaceful sleep, and he slipped below the rim of the waking world and into darkness.
And Peter's tears froze in their tracks, as though turned to ice.
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Cifel felt the bond with the eldest son of Adam sear with excruciating pain, then fade. He glanced frantically about the mass of chaos below him, seeking any living creature, the flash of metal in the sun, anything.
The rays of midday beat down upon him like a curse, making sweat run down his forehead and his body unbearably warm.
The bonds were destroying all three of them.
Cifel hissed, cursing the witch's cunning. If he had only interpreted the spell correctly, none of them would be cursed. The eldest son of Adam's mind would not be plagued by darkness, and the youngest…well, Cifel could only hope.
Just a little.
He wished it was enough.
Suddenly, a terrible scream of anguish ripped through the air like a knife, and Cifel found himself paralyzed, falling through the air towards the water below. He righted himself just in time, wings out of joint and severely weakened, just inches above the heaving mass of liquid below.
He looked up, and saw the small boat thankfully still intact, with two occupants standing staring frantically at the water around them.
Unfortunately, one was most certainly not a Son of Adam.
So where…?
He caught sight of a small, limp figure drifting in the undercurrents below him, and cursed violently. He knew that northern wind was no coincidence. Seconds mattered here. Just a few more moments, and it could be too late.
Gathering his aura about him, Cifel crossed his hands before him and sent a pulse of his own life force plummeting downwards, towards the creature which was just resurfacing feet away.
It howled in agony as the magic shocked the chimaera like electricity, boiling its blue reptilian blood in its veins.
Suddenly, a thought which was not his own drifted across Cifel's consciousness.
Pe…ter…Pet…er…!
Apparently the bonds had tightened considerably now, due to the heightened tension. Cifel gritted his teeth and whirled about to face the boat where the eldest son of Adam stood shakily; tear stained and weak, but still standing.
Cifel could sense his mental turmoil, the torrent of emotions pounding at the defenses he had built in his mind, and he growled then called across the water.
"Son of Adam! There is still time!"
And Cifel heard another voice, a different voice, a hoarse and weak but nevertheless perfectly clear tone.
I still...I can still...I still have time...
There's still hope...as long as...we're...together...
He felt a surge of extremely powerful energy from the boy, and blinked as a gust of aura signature flew past his face. He heard a distinct disturbance in the water, and turned just in time to see the eldest son of Adam disappear beneath the surface of the water.
So this was the true power of love?
It felt so warm…
And then, Cifel cried out and clutched his head as a multitude of voice suddenly shattered his defenses, and thoughts not his own swirled around his head.
Finish them! Finish them! Kill them NOW!
Yessss…yesss misstresss…I kill them soon…
Edmund…you won't be dead, you can't be dead, I won't let you! I can't…I won't…
Pe…ter? Peter? No…what…? No, I don't want…you go on! I have to die, I have to pay, I have to pay for my sins! I'm…not…strong enough…I'm so tired…cold…Pe…ter…m'cold…
Forget the young one, kill the golden! KILL HIM!
Yesss…I…kill…
There was a sudden tear which appeared in the water, and a trail of crimson blood welled from the dark liquid and oozed across the surface; as though the river itself were a wound and could bleed.
Silence.
PETER! NO!
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Peter's hand was inches away from clasping Edmund's limp, drifting one in his own, when out of nowhere a dark shape whipped through the water. Peter caught a glimpse of shining, zinc coloured scales and sharp spines before he was flung upwards, wrenched away from the river bed.
And from Edmund.
He watched his own tears of frustration, pain and despair meld with the water around him, and closed his eyes tightly as a dull pain engulfed his torso; he spun slowly in the water, senses dull and inwardly screaming.
And somehow, inexplicably, a faraway voice spoke, echoing about the recesses of his mind.
PETER! NO!
Ed…mund…?
And then there was nothing but darkness.
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This is Peter thinking, This is Edmund thinking, This is witch thinking, this is just normal chimaera thinking.
Anything else would be telling!
A/N: Yet ANOTHER cliffie! (Sniffs) I am so mean to poor Peter…going insane twice in one day, my poor little abused character…and Edmund! How could I? Why? How could I do this!
Cifel: (whispers) Angst.
Oh, yes. (Clears throat) Yes. All in the name of angst. The poor boys have reached their breaking point. Time for some well earned mental healing, I think. For a little while, at least. Cifel is joining our little party for a while, too, to look after the boys. Awfully nice of him.
Cifel: (glowers) Nice, pah! Personal gain…
Yes, things will calm down for the next few chapters. Lots of calming fluff. I, myself, am exhausted with all this tension. I wrote this chapter in a rather strange style, because Peter's pov was slightly mental, and Ed's was too, in his disturbingly calm, accepting way. (Shudders) Gives me the creeps.
The whole BOND thing: Ah, yes, that. Re-read the poem, gather the clues within the text. See if you can figure it out.
Anyway, with every review I'll give Peter and Ed another hour's recovery time for the next chapter. Come on, people! Seriously fatigued little boys here…
Peter and Edmund: (fast asleep)
(squeals) Aw…