A/N: Wow, lots of encouragement! Thank you! (Bows) Like I said before, the next few chapters are extremely intense and difficult to write.
People professing they will hate me if I do things, please don't. It kinda puts me off…even though I know it's just in fun. I'm getting really uptight about these chapters, and almost started crying when I wrote one…
Cifel: (rolls eyes) Drama queen…
I hope I won't screw it up…POV hops about a lot in this chapter. Bear with it, please.
This is the witch speaking to Peter, and then Peter himself after a few scenes
This is Edmund
Chapter thirty four
Cifel froze as he released a griffin from its temporary state, raising his head and gazing to the south. He had felt…something. Suddenly, inexplicably…he couldn't feel either of the Sons of Adam anymore.
What…did that mean?
He glanced around at the disorientated, swiftly growing mass of creatures. They looked at him in wariness, in reverence, and he felt slightly uncomfortable. He had not received such…respect…since the olden days.
Before she came.
Cifel shivered as the courtyard seemed to grow suddenly cold. He had to carry on…he had sworn to return as fast as possible, and this lack of emotion in the now extremely faint bonds was filling him with unease.
Something terrible…something which would shape the fate of all of them…was teetering on the brink of reality.
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Jadis' lips curled upwards into a sick, mocking smile as she gazed with disgust upon the now fallen Son of Adam. His sky blue eyes were filled with malice, a blazing fire tinged with despair staring up at her.
She didn't flinch when he screamed, as her blade sunk into his flesh with a succulent sound. Rather, she closed her eyes and revelled in the sound, drinking in his agony and drawing strength from her hold over him.
It was sweet, bitter. Intoxicating.
"Oh, my sweet little prince…"
She cocked her head to the side as the far off sounds of erratic, desperate footsteps reached her senses. The golden haired boy writhed in pain, struggling to scramble away, his face hidden by the shadows of the clouds above him.
As another flash of lightning, coupled with a clap of livid thunder, lit the valley, Jadis caught sight of a lone figure silhouetted atop the hill.
She had savoured the flavour for too long…lingering upon the tips of her fingers, begging to be unleashed. But she had waited, and orchestrated her own script of a tragic comedy of revenge.
This was only the beginning.
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Peter Pevensie clutched at his searing shoulder, the indent spouting sticky, hot blood over his clenched fingers. Trickles of rain ran down from his sodden hair in a sick mimic of tears, and he drew shallow, quick breaths.
He…couldn't move.
He tried desperately to bring his legs out from under him and stumble upright in some façade of defiance…but his limbs seemed to be made of solid, numb ice. His body was not listening to the desperate, erratic pleas of his mind.
A throttling, smothering cold was closing in, driving spears of pure ice into his body. He couldn't breath, he couldn't think.
He watched the world from behind a wall of frosted glass, as he seemed to draw back within himself, and a soft, harsh laughter echoed about his head. He slammed against the barrier, trying desperately to break through, but to no avail.
He was utterly helpless.
As he felt his spectral eyes sting with repressed agony, he could feel nothing. He vaguely heard a sharp, mocking tone mimicking his own mother's voice:
"Peter, darling; would you come to me?"
He saw his own hand raise steadily to take her blue hued talons, and rise to his feet, as his vision was clouded with a crimson haze.
And Peter Pevensie uttered a terrible, silent scream.
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Edmund's world span at a nauseating angle.
His feet pounded hard upon the ground, and he stumbled, losing his footing. He scrambled up, the hard fragments of forest debris embedded in his palms and knees.
"PETER!"
He felt like he was going to throw up, but there was no substance to do so. A burning, leaden weight had settled uncomfortably on his stomach, smothering his chest with numb panic.
"PETER? WHERE ARE YOU!"
His hoarse cry was drowned by another clap of thunder as he came to the crest of a hill, his desperate plea lost in the chaos of the storm. He panted and wheezed, scanning the darkness frantically.
And then he saw him.
Peter sat at the bottom of the hill, the lush grass about him splattered with crimson life fluid. He clutched his shoulder with white knuckled hand, and his head was bowed, his dripping hair obscuring his face.
And then he saw her.
Jadis, acting overlord of Narnia, sneering down at his brother's agonising torment. How face was shadowed by the light cast by the shifting clouds above her, her eyes blank and so cruelly edged.
She raised a poisonously elegant hand to reach for Peter, and Edmund felt his heart leap with a powerful surge of fear.
He forced his aching body into movement, and began to stumble unevenly down the hill, eyes fixated on the bowed figure of his brother.
And then he froze, as he saw Peter reach out and take the witch's outstretched hand, his face becoming visible as a thunder clap allowed lightning to illuminate the valley.
Edmund drew in a harsh gasp.
Peter's face was deathly pale, his lips turning an icy hue of blue. His expression was blank, impassive, and his hair hung in lank strands before his eyes.
China blue had been polluted with stark, bloody crimson.
And then the second petrified, desperate scream resounded inside Edmund's head, and the land shuddered with repugnant repulsion at the torment of their High King.
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Jadis felt a surge of triumph as the thin tendrils of her power carefully orchestrated the boy to rise to his feet and take her hand. She watched his wide eyes grow blank, and turn a dark shade of red.
And now, she held all the cards.
She watched in mild interest as the sweaty, wild eyed younger Son of Adam skidded to a jerky halt a few feet before her. She raised a deceptively gentle hand to grasp the unresponsive golden boy's shoulder, and pulled him back to stand beside her. Blood poured from the cut in his shoulder, but she paid it no heed.
It mattered not now, anyhow.
Her lips curled upwards in rapture, as Edmund froze in his movement and stared with disbelief at his brother.
The final act had begun.
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Edmund shuddered as his gaze met the blank, swirling depths of his brother's crimson eyes. Peter watched him without emotion or movement, golden lashes robotically sweeping down to blink once gentle, sky blue eyes at Edmund.
The white witch began to laugh, a quiet, coarse chuckle, and reached up her other hand to wrap around Peter's chest. She pulled his unresponsive form to her body, mimicking a gentle embrace.
Edmund shivered, pure hatred rearing its smouldering head. His insides were on fire, his blood was pounding so hard in his ears he could hardly hear the storm above him.
"Let him go."
His voice shook with anger, his fists clenching with fury at his sides. The witch lowered her head sharply, to fix cool grey eyes upon him.
She smiled a sickening smile, and reached up a slender fingered hand to slowly fondle Peter's sodden but still golden hair, slowly caressing the limp locks away from his face to draw back the curtain which partially hid those eyes.
Edmund faced the torment with a hardened blow, as he saw those red eyes cloud over with salty tears.
She rested her chin atop Peter's head, still gently stoking Peter's hair as she had done to Edmund once upon a time. Her lower lip jutted out into a mocking pout.
"Awww…my poor little delusional child. You truly believe you can command me?"
Her fingers clenched into a fist in Peter's hair, and she yanked his head with a sharp movement. Peter did nothing, his head snapping backwards unnaturally, and his face still blank and growing paler.
"No."
Edmund took a fumbled step forwards, his hands beginning to tremble with utter hatred. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the crystalline rivulets of rain pouring over Peter's white face.
"Let him go! He has nothing to do with…you."
It was true. The witch and Peter had never even exchanged a word…the blame, the punishment, must fall to Edmund. It had to. It was his penance, his right, his duty.
The witch cocked her head to the side, her smile growing to reveal pearly white teeth.
"Oh, little Eddy. But he does. You made it so."
There was a glint of metal, and Edmund saw one of the witch's twin blades hidden within the depths of her palm. It was perilously close to Peter's chest. Edmund took another weak step forwards, and she mirrored him, dragging his brother back.
"Take…me. Instead. Just…let him go…please…"
The witch's smile fell, and she let out a soft hiss as Edmund's hand strayed tentatively to rest upon the hilt of his sword.
"And why should I, when I can cause you such intense with him as my tool? Besides…"
Her hand drifted up over Peter's shoulder to rest against his neck, and Peter turned his head mechanically to look her in the eye.
"Peter. Do you want to go to your brother?"
EDMUND! Don't-
Edmund refrained from clutching his head as a sudden, disjointed voice abruptly sounded within the confines of his mind, then just as quickly was cut off. It crackled like a broken record, and he watched in detached disbelief as Peter shook his bloodless face slowly, his brother's voice still ringing in his ears.
What…was this? Those blue, chapped lips had never moved, and yet he heard Peter's broken voice in his mind…
"He betrayed you, little Peter. His own blood, sold you to certain death and tied you to a terrible fate. Can you forgive him?"
Edmund vaguely registered Peter's blank head shake once again, this time more vigorously, but he listened intently for the voice once more.
…mund? Don't…her! She…cursed…
Peter? Where are you! I can't understand you…
"Do you hate him?"
Edmund was wrenched back to reality as the witch spoke again, and he felt a stab of pain pierce his heart as Peter shook his head once more, a strange, bitter smile now twisting his once kindly, innocent features.
…no…I…would never…control…
And Edmund, suddenly, inexplicably, understood.
A chimaera, eyes a deep, bloody crimson. Sennjan, or Cifel, the once deadly red eyed boy whose eyes now shone a living, forest green.
"You…you're possessing, controlling him…! But…"
Edmund stared the crimson orbs in the face, forcing himself not to reel in repulsion, and could have sworn he saw a flicker of blue as the eyes rolled to look at him.
"Peter, I can still hear you! I know-"
"SILENCE, FILTH!"
The witch's lips now curled into a disgusted sneer, as her hand fell from Peter's hair to grasp his other shoulder in a painfully tight grip. Her eyes narrowed as Edmund felt a weak sense of triumph.
Then his heart leapt into his throat as she smiled once more.
"Very well. I see this is of no more use to me."
Edmund's eyes widened, and he followed the slow progress of her hand, as she took Peter's limp hand in hers, and placed the hilt of one of her swords within his palm. She pressed down, hard, and Peter's hand suddenly grasped it tightly.
She raised her head, a mocking, cruel leer covering her sharp features.
"Edmund, Son of Adam…draw your sword."
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Peter let out a harsh, desperate gasp as he realised what the witch was about to do. He slammed against the icy, frosted glass before him with all his strength, and released a hoarse sob as it refused to give.
He pounded a spectral fist against the surface, hearing it creak ominously, but it didn't break. He watched as though from a dream, as he saw his own hand grasp the witch's sword.
'EDMUND!'
His voice rose and broke, and he screamed with all his remaining strength, falling to his knees as he gasped for breath.
But his little brother could no longer hear him. Edmund watched with morbid horror as Peter saw himself raise his sword and advance on the younger Pevensie.
'Ed…mund…'
He choked, as his whisper echoed about his wintry prison, resounding around his head and in his aching heart.
He bowed his head as he saw his own arm raise the sword aloft, and felt his own face bear a malicious, avenging smile.
He cried out in desperate frustration and curled into a foetal, crumpled heap on the cold ground, his breathing shallow, his china blue eyes wide with fear and hopelessness.
A crimson haze had once more descended upon his vision.
He felt so cold.
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Edmund only moved at the last second, shell shocked, as his own brother raised the witch's sword in a strong hand and brought it down in a powerful arc towards him.
He ducked to the side, staring up at Peter's face, which now bore a cruel, sadistic smile which made his once loving features, which Edmund knew so well, emanate evil.
Peter was trying to kill him.
No. Peter would never want to cause Edmund hurt…never. The witch was trying to kill him.
Kill them both.
Kill them all.
Edmund felt a surge of pure power and strength well from his heart and spill throughout his limbs, searing across his being. He would not give up.
Peter hadn't. Peter wouldn't. This was not Peter.
But if this…creature…which inhabited his brother, was harmed…Peter would suffer, feel the pain, bear the hurt, too.
He couldn't.
Not Peter.
"Are you frightened, Son of Adam? Do you cower at your own brother's feet?"
The sneering, mocking tone of the witch came from the sidelines, and Edmund felt a web of realisation weave itself in his mind.
It was dangerous.
…let…can't…die…
The soothing presence, even though it spoke of fear and loss of hope, strengthened Edmund's resolve. There was still hope. The light may yet shine on, the storm would eventually pass.
And as the rain began to falter in its flight, the clouds rising and revealing fragments of dark sky, Sir Edmund the Just of Heart drew his sword.
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The barrier was thinning. Peter weakly raised his head as he saw the wall begin to shimmer, and grow clearer. He scrambled up, his movements sluggish, and saw his brother's dark eyes illuminated before him in the darkness.
His body was the very essence of pain.
Icy shards were tearing him apart from the inside out. He no longer felt, he longer breathed. He couldn't think, he had no voice to speak with, no lips to formulate a cry for help.
And yet those dark eyes burned with the fire of defiance.
Edmund…hadn't given up.
He wouldn't fail him again…not Edmund. Not his little brother.
He saw Edmund roll to the side as his own arm attempted to inflict a deadly, killing blow to his neck. He felt, rather than saw, his brother reach for his sword.
Edmund…please, let me die…I can't go on with you in peril…let me…die…
But it seemed Edmund was not listening.
And as the battle begun, Peter realised with a searing, thrust of cold reality.
This duel, no matter what the outcome, would inevitably end in bloodshed. The witch would not go without at least one triumph to savour her victory.
He could do nothing about it.
But whose blood was spilt…that he could control.
He would…rule his own fate.
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The two blades met with a tyrannical clash, and Edmund gritted his teeth as his brother's superior strength forced him to stagger backwards. His brother's face grinned in malice, an eyebrow raised in sceptic scorn.
Edmund let out a growl of frustration as lunged wildly away. He could not attack…he just…couldn't. Peter was still alive, his heart still beating, somewhere inside that shell. He couldn't take the risk.
He had to force his opponent to face the witch. It would give Edmund a split second advantage, a single chance.
It wasn't enough.
Not nearly enough.
But he had to try.
"OI! YE GET AWAY FROM THEM YOUNGUNS, YE VARMITS!"
Edmund's head snapped about, to see the stout figure of the dwarf wrench back his stubby arm to hurl his axe at the witch with unexpected strength.
The witch cried out, stumbling, her concentration breaking as she leapt out of the way.
Edmund whirled back about, to find a pair of china blue, flickering orbs staring at him in weak confusion. He let a gasp of joy, moving to leap forwards.
But froze as a trembling hand raised the blade of the sword to block his path.
"No…Edmund…go…"
Crimson tendrils began to filter through sky blue orbs, turning them a bloodshot texture. Dark, blood filled droplets of tears welled in polluted, intoxicated eyes, and Peter sank to his knees as he whispered a final order.
"Go…now…end this…"
And Edmund, hesitating for only a blind moment, turned reluctantly on his heel to charge at the fallen figure of the Queen of Narnia.
The final act was drawing to a close.
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Peter fumbled for the hilt of the sword, his eyes falling from his brother's back. He had his own last, final task to accomplish.
Strange that even after all this suffering, this hardship…
They had returned to the beginning once more…
Ironic that the only path to salvation must be stained with the blood of the innocent, in order to be righteous.
He held the icy tendrils at bay with the final shattered, fragmented remnants of his strength, as he raised the blade of the witch's own weapon to rest upon his two outstretched, upturned palms.
He felt his limbs growing numb, as he carefully turned the blade about to face his own chest, his hands beginning to shake with the repressed icy power which engulfed him.
He clasped the hilt with a surprisingly steady hand, and he opened his eyes for one final moment of peace.
They met with a pair of wild, terrified dark eyes widening in shock.
His lips curled into a bitter smile, those two horrified orbs imprinted forever upon the shadows of his mind.
He no longer felt afraid.
He flinched as he heard the hoarse, agonised scream of his name as he drove the blade into his own chest with all his strength.
It…didn't really hurt.
He just felt…cold. Just a little.
The darkness began to close in as the icy tendrils withdrew as though severed by the very blade which had sunk into his body, and he sighed in relief as the pain faded.
His eyes fluttered slowly shut.
'I'm…so…sorry, Edmund…it's the…only…way…'
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A/N: Well…that's that.
Please review, and bear with me. Trust me. I know what I'm doing.