SORRY! My account refused to load for some strange reason…(twitches) dodgy internet connection…apologies!
A/N: Oh God, chapter thirty already…I really didn't expect to get this far. It's all thanks to you guys! I think we're quite close to the end now…but to keep you from despairing, here is the promised hint/preview for the sequel which I have planned. See what you can work out!
Have you ever wondered how your life would change, if you had only caught that bus when trying to get to that audition? Have you ever considered whether there was a reason you fell into that puddle on the way?
Maybe if Peter and Edmund had missed that train after all…just maybe, if they had stumbled on the stairs or dropped a suitcase…none of this would have happened…
Well?
Chapter thirty
Night on the eve of battle.
No fair wind rustled across the planes. No cheerful crackling of a blazing fire, no muffled voices or laughter from the tents about her. Everything was quiet, as though all already grieved their own deaths.
Lucy shuddered.
It was so…sad. An unsatisfactory word, but appropriate, and that was how the world seemed to her at that moment. The ringing silence was oppressive, the darkness closing in on her like a smothering blanket. She took a deep breath, steadied her will, and quelled her shaking limbs.
She had just one more task to accomplish, before the cover of darkness dissipated.
As she made her way through the trees on the edges of the camp, the plants seemed almost limp and despairing as she passed. She continued on, feeling her heart ache for them.
"Miss Lucy?"
Lucy turned in surprise, as a shimmering, luminescent white figure emerged from the shadows of a nearby birch tree. Lucy saw a curious, petal covered face silhouetted against the moonlight, dark shapes dancing across the creature's face. She smiled weakly.
"Toll. What are you doing out?"
She shrugged, her body rustling quietly as she moved to stand beside Lucy, smiling sadly up at her. Lucy could tell she had been thinking on the same lines she, herself, had been.
"Just walking, Miss. Same as you. Shall we walk together?"
Lucy bit her lip, hesitating.
"Well, actually, Toll…I'd really rather you didn't."
Toll's eyes narrowed slightly, as she Lucy a skeptical one over, taking in her Mistress' traveling cloak and sheathed knife at her belt. She gasped.
"Miss Lucy…are you…leaving? Permit me to accompany you!"
Lucy tilted her head to look up at the sky, letting out a long, calming breath. She didn't have time for this. She had only a few hours before dawn broke.
"Very well, Toll. But understand, not a word to anyone."
Toll nodded enthusiastically, her leaf scattered hair bouncing up and down as she did so. She followed Lucy a single step behind as they continued on through the forest. After a few minutes, Toll hesitantly spoke up again.
"Begging your pardon, my lady…but pray…why are you going at such an hour?"
Lucy froze, her heart beating painfully fast. She had endeavored to do this alone. She could trust no other, save Aslan, who needed rest before the trials of tomorrow…but she was a little afraid. And Toll had been a good, kind guardian to her.
"Toll."
Lucy turned serious eyes upon the flower spirit.
"I have come out here to learn the truth. For many days now I have observed how the enemy seems to thwart our every attempt to gain an advantage. Whenever we move to place troops in a valley, we find her minions already there. Why?"
This was the cause of her unease, for days now. She had noticed that with every ploy to gain ground, almost immediately the witch counteracted with her own forces. It was as though she was mirroring their every move.
Toll said nothing, staring at Lucy with wide, apprehensive eyes.
"There is a traitor among us."
Toll drew a sudden breath, watching with fear in her gaze as Lucy turned and looked back towards the clearing ahead. Salem, the spy she had sent to watch the borders of the camp, had reported that a quiet commotion every night at midnight occurred in the same forest clearing.
And now it was just meters away. The moon shone right above them, indicating the hour was almost precisely twelve.
She was close now.
"And I intend to find out who it is."
Lucy had taken one step forward when Toll spoke up again.
"You may not have to look far, Lucy Pevensie."
As Lucy frowned and turned, she let out a small cry of pain as something large and heavy slammed into her temple. She crumpled to the ground as her world span and grew dark about her, dancing shadows in the clearing ahead growing fainter.
Toll smiled sickeningly sweetly, bearing down on her, her eyes turning from a clear emerald green to a deep, bloody crimson.
"She's closer than you think."
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It was no use denying it.
Edmund was, inexplicably, avoiding him.
They had been walking for hours, since early morning, passing through what Cifel had told them was Owlwood. The sun was setting now, casting luke warm beams of dying sunshine upon their sore, aching bodies. But Peter paid it no heed, instead keeping his head bowed and his hands swinging rhythmically at his sides.
It hurt.
All day, whenever Peter had moved to walk beside Edmund, his little brother had made some excuse or another and run swiftly on ahead. At first, Peter had thought nothing of it. But after a while, he began to notice the strangely guarded look in Edmund's dark eyes.
His brother had been tense, and his face nearly always set in a thoughtful grimace. Something was hidden behind those blank, wildly swirling orbs. Something Peter couldn't quite name.
The eldest Pevensie let out a long, gusty breath, and raised his head to watch the shifting yellow and orange hues of cloud above him. A smothering weight settling in his chest. Why? Why now, of all times…
'Because you let him down.'
The answer came unbidden, and Peter stumbled over a small hole in the ground as he lost his footing. He regained his balance half heartedly, feeling utterly wretched. He glanced up, and met Edmund's concerned gaze.
Only to see his brother quickly avert his eyes elsewhere, the walls slamming up once more.
Peter's heart sank, a terrible pain beginning to fill his chest and stomach, making him feel dizzy and nauseous. Edmund…he…
Oh, he just didn't know.
Peter had always been able to read his brother like an open book. Small quirks, little tells which spoke volumes to Peter. A little twitch of the eyebrow, the tiniest hint of anger flickering across his little brother's face. He had always known.
But now…
He couldn't even tell why Edmund was acting in such a way.
He felt so helpless. Like he had never felt before…at a loss. He wanted so badly to help, to even gain a tiny hint as to the reasoning behind Edmund's behaviour, but he couldn't. Edmund, for the first time in his life, had turned his back on his older brother, maybe for his own good.
And it was breaking Peter's heart.
He strictly berated himself for being so weak, clenching his fists tightly until his bones began to ache. How did he expect Edmund to care, if he couldn't even look after himself? He'd been nothing but a liability to his little brother for weeks now.
He swallowed thickly as his eyes began to sting.
"Hey, laddie! Watch out for that-"
Peter let out a quiet gasp of surprise as he promptly tripped over a log which he had caught his foot under, and went crashing to the leaf-strewn ground.
"-log. Dearie me, you alright boy? No knocks to the cranium, or nuthin'?"
Peter lay there for a moment, catching his breath, his eyes stinging slightly. He wasn't sure whether it was because of the fall, or his own frustration. A hand took him by the shoulder and pulled him. Peter muttered a hoarse thanks.
He looked up, to find Edmund turning away from him as he straightened up.
He bit his lip and felt his chest constrict with emotion, the guilt rising in his stomach. He coughed dryly, and bile rose in his throat. He bent double, head on his knees, and forced the convulsions down with determination.
He wouldn't be weak.
He couldn't afford to.
Edmund knelt down beside him, unscrewing the top from the water carrier, eyes still solemnly refusing to meet his brother's. He held it up to Peter's lips, one hand going to the back of his older brother's neck. Peter closed his eyes tightly and shook his head.
"You have to drink something."
Edmund said, quietly. Peter opened his eyes to find Edmund looking him in the face for the first time. Immediately, his younger brother winced and his gaze snapped down to concentrate on tipping Peter's head back and pouring the water in.
Peter choked on it, coughing the water back up trying desperately to catch his breath. He looked up at Edmund, who held his gaze this time; but with a haunted, strangely blank look, as though he was looking straight through his brother.
Peter shivered.
He felt someone wrap warm, coarse material around his shoulders. He blinked drowsily as Edmund arranged it carefully so it covered him properly and then hauled his older brother up, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling Peter's arm around his own shoulders.
His touch was gentle, but his eyes lost none of their dark quality.
"C'mon, Pip. Gotta keep moving till dark. Not long now."
The voice was flat, soft, but emotionless. Peter sighed, feeling his legs protest as they began their march once more; Peter trying desperately not to lean against Edmund, while Edmund tried to take as much weight as possible.
It seemed they'd reached a stalemate.
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Edmund forcibly pushed his growing panic down, taking deep, calming breaths. But every time he looked at Peter, into his eyes, he was afraid of what he might see there.
His brother's despair had shaken him.
With every snapshot of those china blue eyes, Edmund felt his own betrayal, his guilt, his uselessness slapping him in the face. Peter was hurting, and try as he might, he couldn't do anything to help.
Save offer a shoulder to lean on.
And Peter didn't even want to take it. He was putting more pressure on his injured ankle because he didn't want Edmund to buckle under his weight. He didn't think his little brother was strong enough.
Edmund himself didn't know if he was strong enough. But he could bloody well try. Peter could grant him that small mercy.
His feet ached. His mouth was dry, and he'd used the last the water to ease Peter's cough. Every time his brother made the slightest choke, his heart leapt and he was filled with terror.
He wouldn't know what to do if Peter were to completely lapse into hysteria.
He was more terrified for Peter, than of Peter. And more afraid of himself, than of his own suffering. He wondered what would become of them were he to break down, and despair, as Peter had done.
There was a rising beast inside of him, flooding his insides with icy cold whenever his emotions fluctuated even slightly. He felt on edge. But he could not submit. If he were to despair, what would become of his brother?
He had promised Peter, promised himself.
And if it meant he had to sacrifice his own emotional well being to keep that promise, he would do so.
He would do anything.
With that sobering resolution, he hoisted Peter higher over his shoulder, taking more of his weight, and quickened his pace.
They had to reach the end of the forest by nightfall.
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This wasn't funny anymore.
At first, Cifel had thought the resolute emotional battle between the two Sons of Adam was quite amusing; just temporary. But now it seemed to be contorting into something more serious.
Neither seemed to release the other was mirroring their every move.
Even as the youngest protected the eldest, the eldest would sacrifice his own well being to make it easier on the youngest. The youngest would then blame himself, work himself into a panic, and worry the elder. The elder would then think it was his fault, and push himself further in order to aid the youngest. The eldest would then present even more signs of suffering, and so worry the younger even further.
An emotional stalemate.
A vicious circle of love, entrapping them and dooming them by their own tools of salvation. This could not go on. They needed to learn to cooperate together, instead of both trying to constantly gain the upper hand. Neither was weak, in any respect. But their bond was forcing them to counter themselves.
Cifel drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, shaking his head as a warm, sunset breeze tossed his dark hair over his face. The land ached for release. It had been too cold; for too long.
He had been too cold. For far too long.
He halted at the lip of a small hillock where the trees thinned out, and snapped his head to the side, mimicking having heard a sound. He placed a hand on his sheath knife, cocking his head to the side.
His three companions halted also, looking at him with curiosity.
"You, and you."
Cifel gestured to the dwarf, who was huffing and puffing rather more than was necessary, and Peter, who looked up in surprise.
"Go over to that small stream and refill the water bottles for tomorrow. Here,"
He handed his own water carrier to the dwarf, who grumbled slightly, and moved over to the Sons of Adam to relieve them of their packs.
"Be wary. You, help me set up camp. We can go no further tonight."
The sun had indeed slipped below the rim of the horizon, inky black and purple dying the golden sunlight a deep brown. Cifel watched as the youngest reluctantly let the eldest go, and helped him a little way along.
"S'alright, Ed. I can manage, really."
Evidently the youngest didn't think so, but Peter flashed a small, reassuring smile and hurried off to catch up with the dwarf, stubbornly refusing to let the pain in his swollen ankle affect his walk.
Cifel could feel it, though.
This whole bond affair was becoming extremely aggravating. There was so much tension going on between his two charges, he might as well stand in a lightning storm and electrocute himself for some light relief. He was getting more and more agitated and jumpy, and they could not afford for such trivial disruptions any longer.
When Cifel was sure the other two were out of earshot, he spun about and straightened, folding his arms with meticulous precision. He slowly raised his gaze to meet Edmund's dark, blank eyes which he had so carefully constructed.
It was slightly unnerving.
"And what, exactly…"
Cifel spoke quietly, but with an edge in his voice, and his eyes narrowed carefully as his gaze bore into the other's.
"…do you think you are doing, Son of Adam?"
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A/N: This was so painful to write. Almost broke my heart…the idea here is that Edmund is trying to be strong by building defenses and concentrating only on Peter, but without allowing emotions to get in the way. Basically, he's going about it all wrong. Don't worry though, I've got Cifel all geared up to give him a good lecture or two…
Cifel: (gleeful)
I bet nobody expected little, innocent Toll to turn out to be the traitor. But the question is…was she acting of her own accord? Or is a more sinister force at stake?
Well, duh.
Edmund: (dazed, staring at email inbox) wow…we're very popular…
Peter: (blushes) Us? Cute? Uh, well…um…(hides)
Cifel: HEY! I'm the manager of the A/N! Get back in the story and get angsting!
Peter and Edmund: (disappear with an ominous pop)
Read, revere, rage, relish, review! It's as simple as ABC…