A/N: Ohmigosh, I am so sorry it took so long to get this up! Life's been real hectic lately, and it's only going to get worse, I'm afraid. No worries, though- My computer, at long last, is fixed, and I'll have more time to think and write with the summer approaching. However, I have been going through MAJOR writer's block...Specially with all the scary happenings at school. +shudders+ Well, I hope I did better on this Chapter than the last one...I'm anxious to write the Battle!


Chapter Three:
Blood and Sorrow

"Peter?"

The boy blearily fluttered his eyes open, awakened by the uncertain voice that floated under the flap of his tent. "Lu, is that you?" he called groggily, glancing at the shadows falling into view.

"Susan's with me, too. Aslan told us to come see you…" Peter's cerulean flashed open in horror and remembrance. As if a deadweight had crashed against him, he realized he was still holding the body of his little brother close. The raven hair had tumbled against his own sanded blonde. He could hear someone shuffle nervously outside; whether it was Susan or Lucy, he couldn't tell.

Susan volunteered to finish Lucy's trailed off sentence. "Peter, Aslan told us to come see you…" Obviously, she hadn't the courage to finish, either, and paused. A shuddering sigh was heard. "Peter, is everything alright?" She seemed terribly frightened now.

He bit his lip and remained silent, swinging his feet lightly from the cot, cradling Edmund's body all the more closer. Gently running a hand through his brother's hair, he asked rather brokenly, "Why? What happened?"

Now Lucy stepped up. "Aslan was crying, Peter," she whispered quickly, as though afraid she might stop again. Soft tears began to fall from the blue eyes.

"Something terrible must have happened, and he told us to see you…" Lucy's soft footfalls came closer to the flap of the tent… then hesitated. Susan, however, did not; she crossed the small amount of grassy land and placed a hand on the closed entrance.

"Peter, are you there?" she asked, her voice slightly shrill with apprehension. "We're coming in; now tell us, what happen-" Her voice broke off as she pulled the cloth away, drinking in the sight with eyes wide with horror. Lucy scrambled up behind her, anxious to see what had stopped her sister, but just as quickly, she froze as well. Peter gazed up at them with watered eyes.

A lump formed in his throat at the sight of their faces; first shock, then horror…Then numbness. The disbelief was so distinguishable; he returned his eyes to Edmund's calm face. "P-Peter?" Lucy cautiously moved forward, staring at her unmoving brother. As if a flame had alit within her, she jammed her hand to her belt, fumbling over the clasp that held her cordial. Finally grasping the diamond- hard bottle, she began to open it, but Peter's hand laid against hers, bringing her actions to a halt.

Lucy stared at her brother, almost angrily; it hurt him. "It's…it's too late, Lu," he whispered, barely overcoming the knot in his throat; "He's…he's gone."

There was a brief pause of terrible silence…

Lucy burst into wracking sobs, her wails echoing through the tent. Peter winced; that hurt him, too. Susan seemed quite lost for words as she hesitantly approached her brother, staring horrified at Edmund. "Peter…I…but…Ed…How?" was all she could say, her tears falling thick and fast. Her eyes landed on a dark, sodden mark on Edmund's side, then on the bloody tear in the clothing. Unable to take the sight of it, she bore her eyes into Peter, who was softly sobbing.

"I heard the Witch's army last night, and I left; I figured if anything was about to happen, like an attack, I should see about it." He ignored her disbelieving stare and continued in a cracked voice; "I was wrong about an attack. They led me to the Stone Table…And they were surrounding it, causing a great fuss over something…" He paused, brushing a stray lock of dark hair from his brother's face; "They had Edmund on the Table. I saw the Knife, and I knew something was going to happen…"

Lucy's sobs grew softer now, quite exhausted. She gazed at Peter with such a melancholy expression that he faltered in his words. Gathering himself again, he went on softly, "I saw his fear…his terror…his regret. He saw me, I know he did, just before…before…Anyway, I could see him…He said he was sorry;" He paused, recalling his vivid dream, "And I forgave him…But it was too late."

A small rage flamed in his eyes quite suddenly, and a startled expression flashed on the sisters' faces. "I could have done something…He was suffering…I was so misunderstanding to him in London, and here!" Susan bit her lip.

"Peter, no…please, don't, it's not your fault," she begged, but he did not heed her.

"If I had just been halfway decent to him, that dagger never would have fallen! He would be here! It is my fault!" he cried, quite stricken. His anger ebbed away, replaced with what felt like never ending misery. "And now he's dead…My little brother is gone."

---------------

The whole camp seemed sobered by the news of the young boy's passing. Some seemed very stricken, and a new subject was often discussed in low undertones- "What about the prophecy!" Peter ignored this question quite bluntly; his focus was at all times either on plans for battle, or tracing back to Edmund, as were Susan and Lucy's. Aslan's mood seemed considerably quieter, and he became slightly scarcer to see as he began to rally more troops.

Peter refused to let anyone remove his brother's body from his tent with a firm note. A few dwarves scoffed at this behind his back, finding it to be rather silly with false hope; though they did have the mind to know not to talk about it around him, heavens no. His mood turned from one to the next; his anger bubbled viciously beneath the hurt and sorrow, always ready to lunge at any poor, unsuspecting soul. More than once he had raised his voice at a satyr or a Talking Beast for almost no apparent reason, but just as quickly, he was apologizing repeatedly. This set a rather unsettling fog swirling around the Narnians- Many were beginning to fear for Peter's sanity.

Peter knew he was not mad; true, his hopes may be false. True, he may seem a bit haughty, but had the others seen his brother, alive and well, in a dream? Had they talked to him, embraced him? Nay.

One evening, he began towards his tent, quite tired and ready to turn in. He was nearly there, when he passed a dwarf's tent. He paid no mind to them and their gruff voices, until a piece of conversation grated against him; "…Humph, and the boy's supposed to be our new High King? I wonder still if Aslan even has a clue what he's been doing; wooing and worrying over the death of his brother. Pah! Me? I'm quite satisfied the prat died."

Peter's footfalls stopped abruptly, his hands beginning to clench in anger. The blunt, gravely voice continued without fault; "I mean, he couldn't have been any good anyway! He betrayed his own family and us for that Witch. I'm even debating if we're on the right side at this point!" Peter's eyes flashed with irritation and fury, but before he opened the tent, a loud thunk of a glass hitting a table echoed out to him.

"That's quite enough, Narv!" another thundered, and cries of agreement followed it. "Edmund was a Pevensie royal, and would have become King himself! And to insult Aslan! Such a sin has never been committed, never in his camp! And you keep your mouth shut; Sire Peter is never to be harped against either. His brother has died. It is a terrible loss; not only for him, but for Narnia! As many have been asking, how now will the thrones be filled!"

Peter smiled half heartedly, but his rage bubbled up again as Narv retaliated. "Again, I say pah! He has died of treachery! Even Aslan knows that. He told us, remember? The Deep Magic, his law. All Traitors belong to her, or else Narnia will perish in water and fire." The tent fell silent. Smugly, the dwarf continued, "He was to die, anyway. He plagued himself, so I see no need to mourn him-"

The dwarf was cut off as Peter thrust the entrance open, his sword drawn. The dwarves fell silent; excepting the one called Narv. The arrogant creature leered at him, slamming his wooden mug down on the table with a crash. "Oh, my my my. Does the young prince find it unacceptable to discuss matters?" he sneered, raising to his feet; even standing, he was a good three feet below Peter.

"Matters?" the boy hissed between clenched teeth. "You insulted Aslan, disgraced me, and disgraced my brother. I find that to be more than just matters."

The dwarf grinned smugly at Peter, watching Rhindon's sharp, silver blade with malicious glint in his eye. "Humph, I suppose so, little king. But do you forget- Your brother would have seen you to die."

Peter slashed his sword violently through the air. "That's a lie!" he yelled, his eyes wild. "You weren't there! You didn't see him die!"

Narv smirked, fiddling with the smooth handle of his battle axe; the other dwarves backed away from him, placing their hands on their own weapons if Peter was attacked. Narv paid them no mind, but scoffed, "Nay, you are right- Though I might have paid money to."

The boy snapped. With a cry, he lunged at Narv, aiming an accurate blow at the dwarf's neck…Clash. The sharp ring of metal against metal sounded through the tent as Narv raised his axe, slamming the blunt head against the sword. Caught off guard, Peter stumbled backwards, his mind swirling in shock. "By Jove, he's strong!" Peter thought with grimace; though Narv was short, his whole body seemed to be as solid as a small boulder.

Dark laughter rang from the dwarf as he leered at Peter. "Oh, a temper, have we? And to attack in your own camp…"

Narv jumped at him, his axe already descending. With a frantic movement, Peter raised his sword, only just down casting to blow. The mere action sent him to the ground, the dwarf standing over him. Narv was no longer sneering; his face was twisted into a look of pure lividness, his beady eyes shining with hate.

"Edmund is dead! Why waste away on false hope? You are going mad," the dwarf growled, gripping his axe with two hands. "The Witch was right to kill him; we could not have a traitor as King."

Peter attempted to lunge at the dwarf again, but the creature sent a stunning blow across his head. Dazed, he fell back against the ground, his grip on the hilt of his sword slackening. A cry rose through the tent as a different dwarf stepped forward; his voice was that of the one that had silenced Narv the first time.

"NARV! How dare you attack the High King!" he roared, standing in front of the hazy eyed boy sprawled on the ground. He held his own axe in tight fists, ready for an attack. Quite suddenly, he eyed the axe Narv held, and cried, "You are no follower of Aslan! I see the Witch's mark borne upon your weapon!"

There was a deafening roar, though it was not the dwarves' chorus of deep hollers; a blur of gold sprang at the traitorous dwarf, knocking Narv to the ground pinned beneath it. Peter shook his head, clearing the fog from his head, though pain continuously panged against it. Setting his teeth, he managed to prop himself up on one elbow to see Aslan stepping away from the dwarf's motionless corpse.

He fixed his eyes on the golden ambers, and then glanced at Narv's body with disgust. To be truthful, he felt no pity for the dwarf. Narv had been a spy of the Witch's. He hadn't been at the Stone Table…"Though I might have paid money to."

"Peter."

Peter snapped out of his murderous thoughts, breaking his gaze away from the slain creature to fix his eyes on Aslan. The Lion flicked his golden tail, a look of deep concern and quietness bearing his features.

"Aslan, I'm sorry. I should have fetched you before I barged in like that," said Peter quietly, momentarily unsettled.

Aslan remained silent, waiting for the boy to continue.

"But he disgraced me and Edmund…And insulted you!" Peter pressed shrilly.

"Release the ice in your heart, dear heart; he has been dealt with. Mistakes are not to be scolded, but to be taught by." Peter nodded numbly. "Are you hurt?"

"I'll…I'll be fine with some rest," he assured, despite the throbbing pain in his head.

The Lion shook his mane slightly. "I think it would be best if you might go to your tent, Son of Adam; your sisters are awaiting you."

-----------

Peter laid a hand on the closed entrance to his tent, then faltered as a loud, audible sniff was heard from within. He closed his eyes in silent protest; his sisters had been suffering just as much as he had been. Gently, he called, "Susan? Lu?"

There was a shuddering breath, then another sniff, before a small voice announced, "It's…just me, P-Peter." A broken noise sounding like a muffled sob caused Peter to wince as he cautiously entered his tent.

Lucy sat on his bed, her eyes red from obvious crying, a steady stream of tears flowing down her face. She sniffled again, gazing mournfully at her brother, who returned it. Peter felt shattered; he never knew it was possible for one so young to feel so much anguish and grief.

Finally, she broke away and returned to what she had obviously been doing before Peter had shown up- Softly, she stroked Edmund's dark hair, holding his head in her lap. Peter sighed, quietly making his way to the cot and sitting beside his little sister. "You shouldn't be in here, Lu."

"Why not, Peter?" she snapped, though she kept her eyes on the freckled face of her motionless brother.

Peter clenched his teeth in bitter resentment and grief. For his sister's sake, he sought a reason, any reason to attempt and end her misery, but found none. With a sigh, he placed an arm around her shoulders; to his great relief, she leaned into the haven.

"I miss him, Peter." The words caught him off guard, but before he could reply, she continued; "He might have been a bit spiteful, but I really believe it wasn't his fault."

Peter grimaced, but Lucy pressed on, her voice growing shrill; "It was after he was sent away to that horrid school, though, wasn't it? When he started going wrong…He was always picked on until he joined in." She sniffed again, her tears starting anew. "I miss the old Edmund, Peter. Somehow, I think if he had been saved, he would have changed."

Peter had now shifted his gaze from his sister to the body of his brother, absorbing Lucy's words. She was right- It was after that school….

With a pained expression, Peter knew it was truly, truly when their father had left for war. The day when Edmund finally collapsed, involuntarily placing the mile stretch between him and the rest of his family…The day Peter felt as though his brother had been forever lost.

Peter remembered the memory, no matter how many times it had tortured him. How Joseph had turned to each child in turn, giving them his final goodbyes. How he had found Edmund sobbing, alone, curled up on his bed. How Peter had tried to console his brother, and how he had failed miserably for many an hour, until Edmund's cries receded as the boy was embraced by his loving brother.

"Shh…He'll be back, Ed," he had whispered. "He'll be back."

And how Edmund's heart had turned cold once more the next day…And the walls between them were secured.

He remembered how he used to scold Edmund for his beastly behavior, not truly understanding his younger brother. How sometimes Peter would catch him crying silently at night. How Peter sometimes broke down and pleaded and prayed that Joseph would return safely and they would be a family once again.

And then, Peter froze.

"Oh my gosh... he'll never see Dad again."


A/N: Welllllll...? I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I had to put in a little skirmish! I'm DYING to write the Battle scene. And is it just me, or are my Chapters getting shorter...+gasps+ I must put an end to that! Anyway, pleasereview!