Everything was a painful blur as Eretash dumped Edmund in the center of the room and slammed the door shut, locking it behind him. Someone cried his name. Maybe multiple people. His head was ringing too much to be sure of anything at that point. Gentle hands touched his arms, and another pair of hands directed his head into what must have been one of the girls' laps. Eyes involuntarily screwed shut, he draped an arm over his face with a moan.
"Here, Ed, maybe this will help," Lucy murmured as a cool, damp cloth rested on his forehead. Another cloth began to carefully dab at the new scrapes that were scattered across his face, arms, and back. Though he tensed at first, relief overcame the momentary stings. Slowly, he worked his way into a seated position and moved the damp cloth from his forehead to his right shoulder and the knot already forming from one particularly well-aimed kick. Lucy and Susan made him strip off his dirty tabard so they could tend to the rapidly purpling bruises across his torso and check for any signs of internal bleeding. Blessedly, miraculously, nothing seemed seriously damaged, save a few cracked ribs.
Just as they were finishing up, the door slowly creaked open to reveal the youth, Teravus, Edmund recalled him being called. In his hands was a large tray bearing two large bowls of soup, a loaf of bread, and two jugs of water. As nervous eyes scanned the prisoners who stared defiantly back, a wince filled Teravus' eyes at the fresh wounds on Edmund. He opened his mouth as if to say something but seemed at a loss. Finally, he just slipped a hand in his pocket as he set the tray on the floor. When he backed away, the Pevensies noticed a roll of clean bandages had appeared among the food.
"I'm sorry," Teravus whispered, then slipped out the door.
The queens and king exchanged meaningful glances as Edmund replaced his tabard but were unable to discuss because at that moment, they heard heavy, thumping footsteps coming up the stairs. The cell door opened once more, admitting Jaret and a slumped over Peter. The guard shoved their eldest brother at the siblings with a careless grunt. Edmund rushed over to catch the High King before he could collide with the stone floor, guiding the man's muscled form to lean against his own chest.
"Pete, can you hear me?" The elder man groaned but nodded. "What hurts, Pete?" Edmund asked. When Peter didn't reply, battle calloused hands roamed his brother's body, gently probing for points of pain. Scrapes and cuts lined Peter's arms, much like Edmund's, but the only serious blows were to the back of his head, his lower left back, and his right ribs. As Edmund completed his examination, he murmured to himself, "They didn't try too hard if that's all they got. And, really, they didn't beat us for very long."
He winced when Susan apparently heard him and gasped, horrified. "Oh, Edmund, that's horrible!"
By that time, it seemed Peter was regaining his senses. "Ed's right," He ventured to open his eyes just a little and Edmund's dark eyes met his brother's bright blue ones. "I can sit," the elder man rasped, and they helped him settle into a slightly hunched, cross-legged position. "He's not interested in diplomacy. He's not afraid to hurt us."
"He? Who is this man and what does he want?"
Edmund sighed. "Their leader, a 'Lord' Favelo. He-" The young man shook his head and laughed without humor. "He wants Narnia and despises Aslan. He conquered this land and cares not. After Peter left, he spent most of the conversation, if it could be called that, trying to convince me to betray Narnia and you to save my own skin."
A decidedly unladylike scoff sounded from Susan's lips. "And I'm sure you told him where he can stick it?"
"In different words, but most assuredly."
She nodded with satisfaction. There were very few things that riled up the Gentle Queen. People assuming that Edmund's prideful, childish failure was indicative of his character was one.
"In truth, I fear what this man is capable of, for both ourselves and for Narnia. He seems to have no concept of right and wrong and cares only for power. He will do whatever it takes to get to the throne. After I turned him down, this," he gestured to his new bruises and cuts, "was the result."
"It was much the same for me." Peter rasped. "His attempt at manipulation was clumsy, as if he truly believed I would agree with such evil."
Lucy frowned. "But why? If, Aslan forbid, he has no intention of releasing us, does he not know that the Narnians and Aslan Himself will not sit by? Narnia will never bow to a usurper."
Peter pulled Lucy close, and she curled into him as she always had when they were young. "I don't know. I don't understand him. I think he doesn't understand us, either. Some who taste evil turn away, never to return. But others give themselves so fully that they cannot let themselves believe the pure are really pure. They cannot accept that their condemnation is self-made and avoidable. To protect their own delusion, they project it on others. All who turn from truth must believe their own lies, lest they see their filth for what it is. But do not fear, Lu. We may not be able to comprehend his plans, but Aslan does. For now, we must just pray and be cautious."
"Yes. We do our best to stay healthy and ready, and Aslan will do the rest." Edmund retrieved the tray of food and placed it in the center of them all. "The first step is keeping up our strength. Then we tend to our wounds. Then we learn everything we can. And we pray the whole while. It's never failed us before." He reached out a hand to Susan, who grasped Lucy's, and so on. As they bowed their heads to pray together, the darkness pressing in on their hearts lifted.
After thanking Aslan for blessing them with food, they tore off pieces of bread and dipped them in the soup, finally quelling the growling hunger that had assailed on top of everything else.
Once finished, Edmund declared that the bandages would be used to replace the ones on Peter's head and the rest saved for later. Susan immediately overrode this with a pointed look at some of the bigger cuts that peppered both men.
Peter and Edmund protested but ultimately sat meekly as their sisters tended to them.
Each took a turn watching through the small window at the castle and forces below, calling out anything potentially worthy of note. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the cell quickly filled with a chill that leeched in from the stone walls. The Pevensies pulled together as much of the straw covering the floor as they could to make a bed of sorts and settled into a close huddle. Peter and Susan leaned against the wall with Lucy scrunched between them, half spread across their laps. Edmund stationed himself between his siblings and the door, stretched on the floor with his back pressed against the older two's knees.
Peter and Susan had already fallen asleep, and Edmund was quickly following when he hear Lucy's whisper in the darkness. "What do you think will happen?"
"Aslan will save us," Edmund murmured, reaching back to clumsily stroke her hair.
Susan stirred long enough to murmur her agreement.
Lucy's smile was evident in her satisfied, "Yes. He will."
All four monarchs slept soundly until sunlight began to spill into the cell.
Edmund untangled himself from the pile first, going to stand by the window. He studied what he could see of the stronghold below them. His mind spun as he watched the comings and goings of their captors far below. Sloppy though these men seemed to be, they had strong fortifications and well-kept swords. The false lord, Favelo, was unhinged but had somehow assembled a startlingly large force, which Edmund was distressed they had been ignorant of. The situation was unquestionably dire.
Lost in thought, Edmund was startled to hear the door creak open. He spun, instinctively reaching for the sword usually at his hip. The young man, Teravus, gently held up the tray in his hands as If to say, 'I come in peace.' Edmund relaxed some but still inched his way between the man and his family. Teravus nodded in understanding. He set the tray down and backed up to the door. However, this time he hesitated before slipping away, so Edmund seized the opportunity.
"Who are you?" He asked softly, but with an edge that reminded the man that Edmund was a King, captured or not.
The man glanced back into the darkened hallway but seemed satisfied that it was alright to speak with Edmund. "My name is Teravus. I am valet to Lord Favelo."
"Why do you serve him, Teravus?" Teravus flinched and the king wondered if he'd hit a soft spot. Perhaps he wasn't all that loyal to his master.
At the man's obvious fear, Edmund's voice softened from the kingly tone it had taken on. "You help us, you must not agree with his methods. Please, you can trust us." This man seemed to have a conscience, in contrast to his fellows. Perhaps he could be reached.
The young guard suddenly seemed unable to meet Edmund's eyes. He almost missed the whispered, "I don't have a choice."
Edmund braved a step forward. "There's always a choice." Teravus flinched again and Edmund immediately backed away with raised hands.
He met Edmund's eyes once more and the King saw the deep shame and wordless apology in them. "If only that were true…" Teravus furtively slipped another small roll of bandages from his pocket. Recognizing the time to hold his tongue, Edmund nodded his gratitude before stepping back. With one last backwards glance, Teravus slipped back out of the cell.
