A/N: HOLY MOLY there were a lot of reviews for the last chapter…yeah, so a lot of people are panicking (evil grin). Well, don't! Please hear me through to the end. I KNOW what I am doing.

Trust me.

Cifel: (reads sequel scripts) Yeah, why else would he be in the cast list for-(gets gagged) mffffffff!

I will state once again that this is neither slash nor incest, just very intimate brotherly love. I have nothing against either; I just don't think Mr Lewis would condone such use of the characters.

Besides, it just too cute.

Ahem…

This is Peter

Chapter thirty five

Edmund felt his heart freeze in its beat, his blood stilling in his very veins.

He felt a jerky shiver run up and down the length of his spine, and he heard grunts and hisses behind him as the dwarf apparently regained his advantage. But he paid it no heed.

His eyes were fixated upon his brother.

Kind, gentle hearted Peter.

Lying in a growing pool of his own blood, sprawled in an unceremonious heap, impaled in the end of his own sword.

Peter. China eyed, innocent, loving Peter. His big brother, his best friend. Little Peter Pevensie just stabbed himself with his own toy.

Silly, silly little Peter.

Brave, foolish, righteous little Peter Pevensie.

Edmund didn't care if he was in mortal danger; didn't care that the dominant ruler of all evil was standing mere feet away. He felt his fingers go limp as his own sword fell to the ground with a heavy clang.

"Pe…ter…"

His eyes didn't even sting or well, but simply shed an endless stream of agony down his face. He was running, throwing himself down beside the broken figure, slipping in a trail of his brother's own life fluid.

A life which was slowly, but surely, slipping away.

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Jadis, Queen of all Narnia, stared in shock, dumbfounded.

She felt the puppet strings, her tendrils of power snap and withdraw into her fingertips as the Son of Adam fell, limp, to the floor.

The eldest Son of Adam had apparently found a loophole in her immaculate, infallible plan. Well…she couldn't say she had predicted this.

A worthy, cunning foe indeed.

But no less doomed to die.

And now, with his little unexpected but nevertheless noteworthy distraction, she could complete her task in peace and return to her forces.

The battle should be beginning, even as she stood here.

She withdrew her sheathed sword, the twin of the one now embedded within the golden haired boy. She smirked as she advanced swiftly and silently towards the dark haired boy's exposed, vulnerable back.

How perfectly…ironic. Twin blades, each embedded in once of the loving siblings. Two perfectly synchronised deaths, befitting two fallen potential monarchs of a realm.

"GET BACK, YE BEAST!"

A perilously sharp axe was wielded with furious strength, and she stumbled back a few steps as the stout, ridiculous creature leapt to the two victim's defence. She eyed his weapon with a wary eye.

She had no time for this.

She had mere moments before the second course of events must be put in motion…she had to rid her path of the troublesome lion and his little sidekick before she could reap her full revenge.

She must wait, just a little longer.

She growled softly, and engulfed herself in the tendrils of icy dangerous which allowed her to sink into the earth, submerged in a shower of glassy shards. Within moments, the earth had knitted itself back to normality over her flight.

Three thrones filled in Cair Paravel…

Not perfect, but it would suffice. For now.

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It seemed the sky wept with wretched sorrow, as the first droplets of rain tumbled to the ground, landing upon Peter's brow; rolling downwards in a sick mimic of tears.

Peter's pale face flinched, and clear blue eyes blinked drowsily and fluttered open, before rising and meeting Edmund's own.

And Edmund began to sob, bitterly, as his eyes roved over the two deep indents in his brother's chest which still spilt his very life out over Edmund's hands.

"…don't you…fret, Ed…"

Peter reached up a trembling hand to brush a few wayward strands of hair behind his brother's ear, and Edmund reached up to grasp it close to his cheek. Salty tears and sweet droplets of rain trickled down their intertwined fingers.

"It…doesn't…hurt…"

Peter coughed weakly, small bubbles of blood rising out of his lungs and staining his pale lips a stark crimson. Edmund watched in despair as the rain washed it aside, running in rivulets down the side of his brother's face.

"…a little fall of rain…can hardly hurt me…now…"

Peter's lips twitched upwards in a fond smile, forcing a small scratchy chuckle. Edmund let out a harsh sob as he pressed his eyes tightly closed, tears of pain seeping in between his dark lashes.

Shaking fingers wiped them away, before going limp and falling down to rest in Edmund's lap.

"Nothing will hurt me…as long as…you're here…"

Edmund opened his eyes to see Peter smiling peacefully, sleepily, up at him, as though they were back home; Peter whispering soft stories in his ears of heroes, of dragons, and castles.

"Oh, little laddie…"

Rabadash kept a respectful distance, and bowed his head, before turning and retreating into the dark shadows of the trees. Edmund didn't look up, nor watch him go.

Peter smiled slightly at the dwarf's actions, a flush spreading across his cheeks at such respect.

"Oh, Ed…"

The smile wavered, and Peter choked, his breathing growing shallower; harsh. Edmund shivered, pulling the cloak from his own shoulder and tucking it gently about his brother. He froze as a hand halted his attempt to move his brother's blood stained shirt.

"No."

Peter shook his head, that slow, sleepy smile contorting his brother's face again. Golden eyelashes glittered with unshed moisture, framing china blue eyes filled with a calm sadness.

"There's…nothing to be done, little brother."

Edmund's chest collapsed inwards, and he let out a strangled scream as he fell down and clutched his brother's shoulders. His head lay over Peter's chest, sticky with blood.

He could hear the erratic, slowing beat of the heart which lay beneath his temple.

A hand caressed his hair, comforting, soothing, as Edmund's tears marred the blood with crystalline blue. He felt Peter's soft hair brush against his head as his brother leant against him.

The fresh smell of peppermint slowly conquered the copper tang of blood. The chest beneath him convulsed with tremors as Peter's lungs struggled to draw breath.

The world about them was silent. The rain splattered against the bowing grass which entombed them beneath the weeping sky. Edmund choked bitterly, slamming a fist into the slushy ground, tightening his hold about his brother's shoulder until his knuckles cracked with the strain.

"…hush…"

A gentle kiss was pressed to the dark hair, mingled with strands of sodden gold.

"M'not…afraid…Eddy…"

The weight about Edmund's heart doubled, constricting his very life flow. He cried quietly, his sobs slowing to frantic breathing as he shuddered.

"Promise me…you…"

Edmund raised his head, meeting Peter's sky blue, dulling gaze with eyes blurred by water. Peter was struggling to speak. Edmund pressed a shaking finger to Peter's lips, and nodded weakly. He understood.

'You'll…be my strength…to go on…watch over the girls…'

Peter smiled a gentle, relieved smile, and his eyes fluttered tiredly. He watched drowsily from china blue orbs as Edmund clutched him harder to him, and they lay sprawled together in the dying Spring rain.

"Promise me…promise me you won't die…please…"

Edmund managed to gasp out, his voice breaking. The hand on his hair stopped its caress, and Peter sighed deeply, holding back the choking which threatened to overwhelm him. .

"I…can't, Ed."

Edmund heart constricted, even as he felt Peter's slow.

"I…love you…Edmund…"

'…and I'm not…afraid…anymore…'

'…it's so cold…'

Peter Pevensie's eyes fluttered shut, the rain splattered again their still forms in anguish, and the land of Narnia bowed in reverence before its fallen King.

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Cifel released a strangled gasp, and his wings stiffened mid flight, leaving him to tumble in the air. A nearby griffin squawked, and ducked gracefully down to grasp his tunic in its talons.

Cifel breathed heavily as he muttered a thanks and regained his strength, surging upwards in the air once more.

It felt…like one of the flows to his consciousness had suddenly, and ruthlessly, been severed with a knife. He calmed himself, and tentatively reached across the tiny thread to feel the faintly beating pulse.

It was so very…frail.

As though it would snap at the lightest pressure, the simplest touch.

One of the Sons of Adam…was dying. Maybe was already wandering the realms of the dead, a single, thin flow all that was left to connect him to this material realm.

How could that be?

Surely, you could not be only partly dead…

Unless…

No…

Cifel's emerald eyes narrowed to slits, and he shouted an order to increase pace tenfold. The creatures upon the ground pounded obediently harder, the air filling with the whistling of the wind whipping past feathered beasts.

There may be a glimmer, a tiny flame, of salvation.

If the youngest Son of Adam did not yet give up hope. After all…as Aslan once said to him, upon a peaceful cliff beside the sea, an easterly breeze ruffling his curly, dark hair lovingly:

'Hope, and love, my child, is the bond which binds us all to our fate. It was this which forged the very foundations of the deep magic, and, as such, the world. And it is the only force powerful enough in creation capable of defying the deep magic.

Even to turn around death itself, if those who possess such qualities find a way to turn it to their will.

Only then, dearest one, will you have seen the true face of God.'

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The white witch, Jadis, queen of Narnia and empress of the lone islands. The ruler whose eyes speak of naught but cruelty, and whose form is robed in sorrow filled grief.

She stood upon her ornate, beast drawn chariot, clothed in mail frosted over with glassy ice. The deadliest beasts in all the realm stood about her, tense and readied for battle.

Her eyes roved lazily over the enemy ranks, her lips curling into a scornful sneer as she saw the lion perched atop an outcropping high above them, rather than leading the charge.

Gentle, afeared, magnificent ruler of the realms across the eastern sea.

There could be only one victor, only one finale to the last act. There would be no encore, no raucous, joyous applause for the brave souls which paid their penance in blood.

Only death, and an empty, cold throne upon the dais in the royal hall within the confines of Cair Paravel.

No matter what the outcome, ultimate victory was hers. How could a golden age begin, when there was no golden High King to rule over it?

There would be no salvation upon the field this day, for either righteous or damned.

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Susan's hands were steady as she readied her bow for combat, squinting as she tightened the string and fitted the first shafted arrow into the notch. She drew in a deep breath, and looked up to meet Lucy's sea green eyes.

She smiled shakily.

"You'll be…tending to the wounded, then?"

Lucy nodded silently, retrieving her vial from the crafted belt at her hip. She sighed as she shook it lightly, noting the small empty gap from the top.

"I'm…ready, I think. I'll have to choose who to help, and who to leave. I cannot tend to everyone at once."

Susan could see the prospect of such decisions distressed her younger sister. She placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, fervently wishing Peter was here. He and Lucy always seemed to understand each other.

Then again, Peter tended, somehow, to understand everyone.

Except Edmund, sometimes.

Whereas she simply tried. But sometimes, to try is simply not good enough. It was no use trying to save Edmund from the witch. There was no concept of failure. None of them had even thought it might be impossible.

Now, however…this was not like the tales you read in books, where some miraculous saving grace appeared in the hour of doom, just as the heroes and heroine's began to despair.

She watched as the ranks of the enemy flooded forward into the valley from the narrow pass. They were outnumbered, by about ten to one.

Her eyes skimmed over all the varying mythical creatures which formed the witch's army. Some she had seen in history books, mere shadows of ink upon a page. These, however, were very much alive.

Her fingers began to itch, and she clenched her fist about the handle of her bow.

She would need every ounce of her strength, every shard of courage she possessed.

The path ahead was clouded, indistinct. Who knew what the rising dawn upon the field would bring; a new day shining upon lush grass splattered with blood?

A victory, and a defeat.

Who would prevail…was left to the bindings of fate.

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Well, Lewis did it for Aslan. Why can't I?

A/N: DON'T SPAZZ AT ME! THINK ABOUT THIS FOR A MOMENT:

Would I REALLY kill of Peter?

Cifel: (eyes wide) You…I…what…you didn't tell me you were going to do that!

Oh, yeah. I just discovered something which left me slightly stunned. I was reading an interview for all the actors of the children, and discovered the following:

Lucy's actress is ten, Edmund's fourteen, Susan's sixteen, and Peter's eighteen.

EIGHTEEN!

They seriously look young for their age…oh well. Never mind. The director better get his butt in gear before they all grow moustaches, though…well, the boys, anyway…

(Raises strawberry yogurt) Ladies and gentlemen, Peter Wolfsbane. Review, and their peril will end; how, we shall have to see.