A/N: Edited by the lovely Realismandromance - many thanks as always!

Also thanks to those of you who reviewed! I love to know what you think!

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Morning had just dawned in the east when Peter set foot outside his tent, around thirty hours after the army's arrival in the mountains. The High King had had an unpleasant night. He wasn't prone to sleeplessness, but for once he had found little rest until very deeply into the night. Concern about his brother had caused him to tense up so much that it had taken a long silent prayer to Aslan to get settled.

Everyone in the camp was already up and bustling about by the time the High King stepped into their midst. Edmund was standing a little offside, talking quietly to Orieus and Lucy. He was already wearing his iron-clad vest and bright red jerkin bearing the Lion emblem, and was busy fastening his swordbelt when he caught sight of Peter. He grinned at his elder brother, but Peter knew him well enough to tell that it was forced.

Hiding his yawn, the High King ran a hand through his hair, knowing that it was likely to be in complete disarray, but he didn't care. He walked over to his siblings and their army general and was greeted by Lucy with a peck in the cheek. Despite his tension, Peter had to suppress a smirk at the way she had to pull him down by the hem of his shirt so that she could reach his cheek with her lips. She was still so small – and yet, she was able to make him feel small at times.

"You're looking pale, Peter," she said. "Are you up for this?"

"You're asking me?" he replied, putting his arm around her. "You had better ask Ed, for he's the one who's about to turn himself over to the enemy."

"It'll be all right," said Edmund, nudging his brother in the side. "It's all well thought through. And I have as much faith in our army to get me and the others out of captivity as I have in Aslan to watch over me. Over all of us."

Peter sighed. Aslan ... Edmund was right. Aslan would be watching over them. But no matter how reassuring the thought was, the anxiety that had settled in Peter's stomach wouldn't budge. He couldn't even eat more than a few bites that morning for breakfast – and looking over at Edmund, he saw that his brother's appetite was just as forced.

An hour after the sun was up and had chased away the morning mist, Skygrace flew up high over the mountaintops to survey what was happening within Enzomian's settlement. Around the same time, the Narnian soldiers began lining up, ready to march forward and into plain sight of their enemies.

Edmund mounted Philip's back and the horse stood proudly, flanked by Orieus and Castor at either side. Silently, with determined expressions, they all waited for Skygrace's return. The tension was nearly unbearable when the eagle finally reappeared in the sky above their heads. He flew directly to Edmund and announced, "The enemy is on the alert, Sire. We had better move out now."

"So be it," said Edmund solemnly. He turned to Orieus. "If you don't receive a message from the other side throughout the day, prepare for battle at night. I want you to lead the attack at the first light of dawn and make sure they have no time to execute the hostages when they realise they're under attack."

"It will be done, my king," said Orieus, with a dip of his head and a curt expression.

"Let's move out, then!" shouted Edmund, and he dug his heels lightly into Philip's sides to signal their departure. Flanked by the two centaurs, Philip moved slowly past the rocks that had hidden them from the enemy's eyes for the last thirty hours; behind him, the soldiers marched with Peter in the lead.

The High King had chosen to walk instead of riding on Emil's back. The nervous young horse had fulfilled his duty by carrying him over large parts of the strenuous walk into the mountains. This morning, Peter wasn't expecting to go anywhere far. However, if the battle would ensue in the morning, he had been granted allowance to be carried by Philip himself – who would be without his usual rider – and was more than grateful for that. No mount would be safer.

The Narnian army lined up on the far side of the meadow that separated the place they had camped from Enzomian's settlement. Edmund, Philip and the two centaurs were positioned a few steps ahead of the rest, while Peter stood in line with the foot soldiers. A couple yards away from him, the stream was gurgling merrily, and he thought back to the night he and Edmund had run from captivity together.

From where he stood, the High King could see the group of huts very well in the distance, and it didn't take very long until the men on the other side had also lined up. Yes, Enzomian had expected their return.

"It's time now," said Edmund, twisting himself around on Philip's back to catch his brother's eye. "I'll see you all tomorrow, at the latest." He nudged his mount's sides gently, and the horse and the two centaurs moved forward across the meadow.

Aslan, do watch over him, thought Peter as he had his eyes fixed on his brother's retreating back, thinking that he looked very small and slim between the two muscular centaurs, even if his iron shoulder plates made him seem wider.

The men on the other side seemed to have realised that the Narnians were sending out a messenger. A group of men stepped forward to meet the small party.

It took a while until they met – and another while before anything else happened. But then two of Enzomian's men went back to their settlement, returning minutes later with the two black dwarfs in tow. This part of their plan had come together. Now things were getting serious for Edmund, and Peter felt his stomach knot up painfully. He watched as his brother slipped down from the saddle and handed his sword over to Orieus. Then the two black dwarfs were helped onto the centaurs' backs by their Just King, before Enzomian grabbed Edmund by the hem of his jerkin and turned him so that one of his men could bind his wrists together.

After that, the two groups parted – and Philip, Orieus, Castor returned with the dwarfs.

X

If Edmund had expected he would have a chance to set up a diplomatic discussion with Enzomian, he would have been bitterly disappointed. The moment he handed his sword over and Orieus and Castor had turned their backs, the young king was given a hard push, making him stumble forward. He caught himself before he fell, but was given another shove that made him go down on his knees. He had expected this kind of treatment, though, and was prepared for anything else that might come.

He scrambled back to his feet and was shoved a third time. Aslan's Mane – Enzomian and his men really had no idea how to treat a diplomatic messenger with grace and dignity! All the way back to their settlement, Edmund crawled more than he walked. Every time he stood upright for a few steps, Enzomian pushed him down again, but knowing full well that his troops were witnesses to all this, albeit from afar, Edmund didn't give up on trying.

They didn't take him to the shed where the other prisoners were held, but into one of the other cabins – probably the home of one of the men.

Inside, this hut was furnished, but there was little more in it than a bed, a few roughly built chairs, a wooden chest and a fireplace to keep its inhabitants warm in winter nights. A woman stood by the fireplace, staring at Edmund with wide eyes, and a boy roughly his age, in very rotten and torn clothes, was crouching in the far corner. He was an unhealthily skinny lad, with hollow cheeks and eyes that seemed much too large for his thin face.

Enzomian didn't give Edmund much time to take in his surroundings. He shoved the young king once more, making him fall over, and then the men built a circle around him. Enzomian stepped forward, dagger in hand.

"I should cut you into pieces," he said.

"You cannot kill me," replied Edmund at once. He surprised himself by how confident he sounded. He felt scared of the cruel man, but wasn't going to let it show. With ease, Edmund got back to his feet and returned Enzomian's dark, dangerous gaze with a calmness he wouldn't have expected himself capable of just a moment ago. "I am your only way out of a battle you cannot win." He paused, trying to read the man's expression. "And I can even offer you much more than that – if you're willing to talk to me."

"Talk?" roared Enzomian, grinning now, baring his yellow teeth. He turned to look at his men, and they all laughed. "Talk? You're not going to talk to me like a messenger; you're my prisoner. You killed and wounded my men." He gave Edmund a strong enough strike to the side of his face to send him to his knees again.

"We shall have to do more than that, if you don't agree to peace," said Edmund defiantly. He could taste blood inside his mouth and feel the swelling that grew on the side of his face after Enzomian's blow. His eyes were watering a little, but he lifted his chin and showed no interest in nursing his wounds. "But, if you do, we shall offer you access to a life that's much easier than what you're used to. We could trade with you, for food or –"

But Enzomian didn't listen. He had his eyes on the lad in the corner now, waving him over. "Come over here, boy," he called out. "See the person who helped to kill your father."

The lad came out of the shadows slowly. Edmund saw that he limped very badly, favouring his left leg. As he came closer, the king saw that he had some resemblance to Cescian, the man Peter and Edmund had killed the other night before escaping. A feeling of remorse overcame Edmund, for he began to realise that he must be inside Cescian's home, that was now inhabited only by his wife and son – neither of which looking up to being able to make a living.

Enzomian was impatient with the slow progress the youth made towards Edmund. "Hurry up, you silly boy," he sneered, holding out his dagger. An evil gleam had come to his dark eyes. "It's time to avenge your father, Cescian. Cut off the hands that killed him." He thrust the dagger into the quivering youth's hand and grabbed Edmund very roughly by the shoulders. Another man stepped forward and caught hold of Edmund's arms.

One look into the lad's frightened dark eyes made it clear that this was the last thing he wanted to do. He simply stood; the hand holding the dagger quivered so badly that he nearly dropped the weapon.

Another man came into the hut. "Lord Enzomian! The army has retreated. That funny horseman has led them all away. They are no longer threatening us."

"Good," said Enzomian, grinning at Edmund evilly. "Now my boy – king of Narnia, aren't you? – you shall feel the power of our revenge. And then I might think about your suggestion to talk. I might be a few days, though. You'll be our guest until then, of course. Although you had better be prepared – you already know the comfort that our Narnian guests get to enjoy."

X

Back in the Narnian camp, Peter did his best to offer comfort to Lucy after they had retreated into the rocks, hoping anxiously that a messenger would come to announce that Edmund's negotiations had been successful. However, although he didn't say it out loud at any point, Peter was more than sure that they would ride into battle in the morning.

The day went by, and so did the evening – and no messenger arrived.

That night, neither Peter nor Lucy barely got any sleep at all. They tossed and turned, and by the time Lucy announced quietly that she had had quite enough of it, there was already the faintest glow of red beyond the mountaintops to the east. The sky was clear, but the dampness of the early morning mist made the High King shiver as he left the warmth of his tent. Around him, battle preparations were going on.

"Are you feeling well enough to fight this morning, King Peter?" asked Philip kindly, as the High King softly placed the heavy saddle on his back.

Peter let out a snort that was supposed to sound amused, but got stuck and came out more like a cough. "Did my brother ask you to make sure of that?"

The horse's ears moved a little, then Philip bent his neck so that he could look at his rider. "He has indeed, Sire."

"Well," he said, patting Philip's neck as if he were a dumb horse, "let's just say I am as ready to fight as Edmund was to put his life at risk." He let out a sigh and added, "Now, let's go and get that imp of a rider of yours and all the others in need of our help out of there."

Philip whinnied, then nodded his head forcefully while stamping his hooves. "For all the Narnians in need of our help!" he repeated, and Peter smiled to himself, grimly.

The High King turned his gaze to Orieus, and in the faint light he could just make out the small nod of agreement the general gave.

A few moments later, the attack broke loose. Peter felt Philip break into a forceful gallop underneath him. Used to Adel's soft canter, Philip's movements seemed uncomfortable and bumpy, and secretly Peter wondered how come Edmund had been keen on riding the Talking Horse all these years. But he didn't have much time to dwell on the thought as they drove nearer to the huts where the battle would await them.

It had been decided that Peter, knowing the small setting, would be the one who would not really participate in the main battle, but try to get to the shed where the Narnians were locked up as quickly as possible. As Philip darted among the others across the grassy plain, the King wondered if they would be met by men well prepared, even now in the semi-darkness of the early morning hours.

As Peter had feared, the foreigners were indeed ready to fight when the force of the Narnian army thundered upon them. Some of them might have slept, but there had been men on the watch. So, when the two armies crashed into each other, the fight was instantly in progress. Swords clashed upon swords, and when Peter scanned his surroundings he noticed Emil right next to him, throwing himself at a group of three men with all his might.

Philip passed that scenery too quickly for Peter to see what was happening to the younger Talking Horse, but a loud noise, somewhere between a cry and a whinny, made his hopes for Emil sink. Tugging gently on the reins, Peter directed Philip through the thick of the battle towards the shed that he and Edmund had had to stay in when they had been prisoners. On their way there, he had to fend off several attacks, but none were vicious enough to do any harm.

Once they reached the shed, he dismounted with a jump, throwing himself on top of an armed foreign woman coming at him. He came down with such force – wearing full armour, he was far from being light – that she dropped her sword and fell down unconscious before they had even started to fight.

"Philip!" he called out loudly. "I'm going to try to get the door open. Once that's done, I want you to carry as many of our people out of here as you can – especially if any are wounded or hurt. The rest, Edmund and I will manage to get out."

But, getting the door to open was not as easy as he had thought. A thick metal chain was fastened to the bolt that held the door shut, and a lock was placed firmly upon it. Peter knew he would never find the key in time, and so he looked around wildly for another idea. For lack of a better option, he drew Rhindon from its sheath and started to hack at the wooden bolt. If that came off, the door would open. But a sword was not made for hacking wood to pieces, and Peter made little progress.

"Your Majesty!" cried Philip suddenly, causing Peter to turn around.

Enzomian himself was running at him, his own broad sword drawn and held high. Philip whinnied and raised himself to his hind legs, then came down, practically running the man over. Several others came to Enzomian's help, and Peter knew that Philip couldn't deal with them all at once.

But Rhindon was stuck in the wooden bolt and wouldn't budge. Peter tried to rip his sword free, knowing full well that there was a chance that he might break it. Letting out a number of words that would have made Susan lock him in his chambers for a week if she'd heard, Peter tried one last time and gave up. Then, with a roar of fury, he flung himself at one of the approaching foreigners without a weapon, slamming him to the ground with the mere force of his own body weight and landing on top. With his bare fist, Peter started hitting his opponent in the face while dodging another man's sword blows.

"Peter! Is that you out there?" It was Edmund's unmistakable voice, coming from inside the hut.

Peter's heart did a little jerk. His brother was there among the other prisoners, and he sounded all right – fit and eager to get out and help.

The man Peter was kneeling on was unconscious by now, and the second one had been shoved away and knocked out by Philip. Enzomian himself was equally defeated – at least for the moment – lying a few yards away. Having won time, Peter turned back to his original task. Rhindon was still stuck, but the bolt was half off already.

"Edmund!" Peter called. "Listen, I need you to push against the door from inside. With all your might, throw yourself against it!"

"Peter, what –"

"Just do it, Ed!" growled the High King. "And best you also make Roak and everybody else who is fit for it throw themselves against the door. The more weight, the better!"

"All right, we'll do our best!" came the call from inside the shed, and a moment later there was a banging noise as several bodies crashed against the wooden door, which moved a little against the bolt but didn't come loose.

"Again!" Peter shouted.

It took several times until the wooden bolt finally splintered and came off, Rhindon coming with it. Edmund and Roak, the cheetah, practically came crashing through the opening. Peter noticed that his brother had been stripped off his armour, once more wearing just a cotton undershirt – which was stained with blood. His face was bruised and his lower lip was cut. Other than that, he seemed hale enough. Peter was about to ask him how he was when he saw the younger suddenly go completely pale.

"Peter!" Edmund shouted, eyes wide with fear. He stepped forward and raised his arms, looking ready to shove his brother.

But it was too late. A searing hot pain shot through Peter's guts as he realised that he had just been stabbed from behind with a blade. His legs gave way almost immediately and he dropped to the ground, the metallic smell of blood hitting his nose just before he lost consciousness.

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A/N: Anybody have any idea what is going to happen to Cescian Jr after this adventure ends? I'll give you a clue; you should know if you have read The Knight And The Lady very carefully :)