A/N: Most of this story is written in the form of flashbacks. For that reason, the POV shall change quite a bit. I'll give a warning at the top of each chapter/section to let you know what POV it will be in, but if I forget, I'm sure it will say somewhhere through out the piece.

This is the first fic that I've submitted in months, so be nice and leave reviews. I'm sure that it'll be AT LEAST three chapters/sections long, as I all ready have plans for the fair bit of it all.

Thanks to SilverQuill92 and laughableblackstorm of HPFF for beta'ing for me. Much Hoofle loff to the both of you! On with the ficcy!

The sting couldn't have been any more than a figment of his imagination, or so he prayed, as the leather thong of a whip was brought down on his back for what seemed to be the thousandth day in a restless eternity of hellish pain. There was a way, and he knew it, that it could all end before it got worse, as it always did, and Peter prayed that Edmund was strong enough not to give in. Of course, it would lead down the road that the older boy never wished to have to travel another time in the same lifespan, but it was better than having his siblings, all three of them, suffer from his weaknesses.

The younger Pevensie, bound and broken-spirited beside him, had held out for so long, and yet Peter couldn't help but feel guilty at having to make him pull through another day. It was unfair to him; unfair that he had to go through with watching the scenes unfold each morning, every afternoon, and again in the evenings, but there was nothing that could be done, except for giving in, that would stop it.

And that was the only thing that they could not do.

"Little Prince," an icy voice sneered in Edmund's direction from the shadows of the room. Startling the boy from his thoughts the voice brought him back to a reality of throbbing sores and whip marks embedded in his skin. He lifted his gaze ever so slightly to catch the sight of a decorated gown slowly slipping into view, sending a chill up his aching spine. "Why will you not tell me?"

They had been through it so many times before, so many painful times that seemed to only weaken the once-resolute determination of both the boys. There was no way that Edmund would be able to hold out much longer, and it terrified Peter to no end, unknowing of what would happen to either of them once their fate was laid upon their shoulders.

Peter suddenly recalled how, in the cold of the night, when the words passed with extreme care not to be overheard from one of the children's cell to the other, when the quiet was so thick with pain and anguish, and the older couldn't help but choke back a sob from the hurt that flooded through his back, he refused to tell his sibling what truly bothered him most. When they knew the guards were far enough away that they could exchange a few words with one another without suffering the wrath of an irritated sentinel, he declined being disturbed anything but the welts that were unhurriedly making their appearance on his skin.

But as a weakened voice spoke up beside him, he couldn't help but be yanked ruthlessly from his thoughts. "Because I…I can't," Edmund whispered, trying to sound more hearty and strengthened than he was feeling.

With a quality that must have been meant to be reassuring, the woman said, "But why can't you, dear Son of Adam?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter caught her movement, watching as she reached out to stroke a long nail along the side of his brother's cheek. Before he knew that he was speaking, he growled out, "Don't touch him!"

He was almost immediately rewarded for his speaking out with the strap barreling down on his back again with a sickening snap! Biting down on his lower lip to keep from making any noise, Peter lowered his head, keeping close to the ground with his face concealed from the sight of the occupants of the room.

"I would watch what I say," she scoffed in his direction. For measure, she added slowly and spitefully, "High King." Then, seeming to think it was not enough of an insult, she carried on. "You do not seem so high and mighty in your beggar's position on the ground, do you?"

He could hear the soft click of her heels on the ground as she made her way toward him, and he winced. "Look at me," she barked, and despite the effort with which he tried to keep his gaze fixed on the ground, he found that he was looking up slowly until finally their eyes met.

Once more, there was a snap! and the whip lashed his skin. His head sunk to the floor, his eyes squeezed tight in pain and unbearable anguish. "Now!" the Witch nearly screamed, and he demanded that his head stay lifted in the air long enough to meet her withering stare.

"For being Aslan's hope, you're no more than a scared little boy, aren't you, Son of Adam?" There was malice and enjoyment in her eyes as a cruel smile further lit her features in a grotesque manner. "It leads one to wonder how you were chosen."

She looked intently at him down the length of her nose, crossing her arms across her chest. "Do you wish to end this, Peter?" she queried, her words now kind and gentle to his tired ears. "Do you want your brother's suffering to end, Edmund? All that you have to do is tell me where your sisters are. It's not too much to ask, is it?"

"Don't tell her, Ed," Peter croaked hoarsely, shifting his glance to the boy next to him, who sat in a heap on the floor, arms bound behind his back and legs tucked beneath him at what must have been uncomfortable angles.

Edmund, who was now thoroughly unsure what to do, stared into the lifeless eyes of his brother. He so wanted to relieve Peter from the pain and suffering that his own selfishness had deemed upon him, but at the same time was struggling with the thoughts of whether or not to obey him.

"Tell me, Edmund," the woman cooed softly. "It will make things so much easier. I don't want to hurt your brother any more than you want me to. But if you don't tell me, I'll---"

"Don't listen!" Peter cried, unable to contain himself. "Ed, don't let her convince you. Just look at what happened last time you listened to her!"

Edmund inhaled sharply as the thong came down upon his brother yet again. No longer capable of holding it back, Peter released a tormented yelp of distress. The words he had been told seconds before on both parts had an appeal. If he listened to the white-garbed woman, he would be able to end things before they got worse. Perhaps he would still become the only king of Narnia, just as she promised him those many days ago.

But what Peter said, no matter how horrible the truth of it all was, also had been true. She betrayed him, bound him, and made him suffer. Who was to say that she wouldn't do so again?

The Queen seemed to notice the hesitation in the boy, for she leapt like a tiger on the hunt at the opportunity to change his will. "Were you ever first in your family, dear Edmund?" she asked quite suddenly.

The addressed boy's head snapped up in her direction. "W-what?" he stuttered, not quite understanding where the change in tact had come from.

"They never cared for you, did they?" she continued, avoiding his question with practiced skill. "You know that, undoubtedly? This is your chance, you see. You can finally show them that you are more than they expected."

"Shut up!" Peter ordered, his voice broken with the lash of the whip not once, but twice. Hot liquid sprung to his eyes, but he refused to let it fall. He denied the tears the freedom of rolling down his dirt-stained cheeks and onto the floor before him. Before the White Witch had a chance to speak a word to him, he plowed on. "Edmund, you were never uncared for! Ever! Don't think that; don't ever think a thing like that!"

Snap! snap! snap!

In quick progression, he was struck thrice, elbows crashing upon the solid, stonework floor beneath him as he tried to disguise the wracking sobs that took over his body. Head hung so low that it his hair was pressed against the ground, eyes pressed shut, he bit down on his lip as hard as he could, holding back a breath of ache when his lip was punctured.

The Queen didn't approve of his disobedience, and swiftly moved to his side, standing between him and Edmund. "You do not speak unless addressed first, Son of Adam," she hissed, contempt and malice weaving its way into the words she spat at him. "Do you hear me?"

Peter did not respond; he could not, even if he tried. Instead, he steadied his breath just enough to inhale silently, and relaxed his once-tensed shoulders.

"You are to answer the Queen!" she cried, bending over to dig her nails into the back of his neck and straighten him. Once more, a sob escaped Peter's lips, and Edmund shouted something incoherent. "I said you speak when spoken to," she whispered, and as she dug her fingers further into his skin, he nodded to the best of his ability, inhaling sharply as she shoved him forwards to land roughly on his wrist. He could have sworn that he heard the faint pop of the bone being disjointed inside of him.

The White Witch made her way leisurely to the door. "You do not wish to speak, I see," she spat scornfully. "We'll see how that holds after dinner."

With a snap of her fore and middle finger, she strode purposefully from the room. For a half-moment, Peter thought that he was safe; Edmund believed that he was off the hook. That all changed when two dwarves, each holding a weapon of their own, prodded them roughly in the back.

The boys stumbled to their feet, and, without paying mind to where they were being led to, began to walk, fumbling on uneven ground here or there. Within what seemed an age of walking, they came to and found themselves in a cell, chained to opposite walls.

When the door was locked behind them and dwarves were both standing outside the room at their posts on either side of the door, Edmund found the strength to speak. "I'm…sorry, Peter," he whispered.

"Not…not your fault," Peter wheezed back, unable to find the will to speak more than a few words at a time. The cold of the stone wall behind him pressed against the welts on his back; it didn't feel as comfortable as he had hoped it to.

"Yes it is!" Edmund rasped back. "If I hadn't---"

"No talking in 'are," one of the sentinels outside the steel bars shouted, and the two fell quiet.

For a moment, the brothers looked at one another, trying to keep their eyes open long enough to assure the other that they were all right. For Edmund, this was much easier to do, for only mental exhaustion lay burden on his shoulders. Peter, however, couldn't keep his head up. He found that each time he tried to hold it suspended, a weight seemed to be dropped upon it, forcing it to sink onto his chest.

"Sleep," he heard the younger boy croak, and with the slightest nod of his head, he let his eyes sink shut. He couldn't help but think as a last prayer that he woke up in the morning to help the other through what was sure to be another hellish day.