A/N - Hello again, my sweet ducklings!
Thank you all for your reviews. They just keep me going. :P
I'm still struggling with the ending of this fic, so if the chapters start coming a bit slower than usual, I hope you won't blame me. Its hard putting one up every day. xD
I've spoiled you all rotten, I think. Maybe I should put one up every week like Elecktrum...
;D
Just kiddin'. I wouldn't do that to you all.
I swear...
-shifty eyes-
Anyways.
Blah blah blah, I own nothing, etc.
Uhhh if you're easily reduced to tears, you may want to have a tissue box and a stuffed animal nearby for the next couple of chapters. I'm going to try and make you all cry, so be sure and tell me if you do in your reviews. xD
Love you all.
--Monkey--
The days came and went, usually containing me struggling with the weight of trying to lead a broken family, let alone a country, by myself.
Sweet Lion, how much leadership had my brother actually shouldered with me, and I never realized? This was actually quite cruel; showing me how much my brother actually helped me through life, after he no longer held possession of it himself.
What a mess I've made of this.
I was leaning over a small table with Caspian, trying to figure out what our next move should be, when Lucy dashed into view, looking terribly shaken and sheet-white. I sat up, alarmed.
"Lucy?"
"Peter," She gasped, clutching her dagger and desperately trying to gain breath, but unable to. Caspian looked at us both, surprised as well as alert. Susan came trotting out of the dark after Lucy, wide-eyed.
"Peter, there are Telmarines outside of the How," She said semi-calmly, wasting no time as she slung her bow over her shoulder along with her quiver, dark curls spilling over her anxious eyes as my own began to widen. Telmarines? Now?
"What do they want?" I managed to croak, my voice hoarse and distant. Telmarines. The ones who shot down my brother. The murderers. The...
"They...they have a palm-branch, Peter," Lucy piped up as soon as she had breath. I cursed quietly. Reepicheep skittered around the corner, followed by Trufflehunter the badger, Trumpkin the dwarf, the bulgy bear, and eventually all the Narnians in the How. They all looked to me for direction.
"What does a palm-branch have to do with anything?" Caspian asked, confused. Reepicheep answered for me, smoothing back his crimson feather and speaking in a resounding, shrill voice.
"The palm-branch is a sign of peace. The soldiers must be bringing surrender, a challenge, or something around that context. We cannot attack them when they hold temporary peace, or risk being attacked by Miraz's forces and being dead by the morrow. Plus, it would be rude."
A few Narnians smiled at the mouse's ever-present sense of honor and chivalry, but not many. We were all hit hard with the fact that the soldiers were just outside.
"We should--" I began hoarsely, but the valiant mouse, Aslan bless him, cried out,
"We shall go out to meet them, whatever they want!" He drew his tiny rapier with the shrill squeal of metal, and skittered away towards the entrance before anyone could call him back. Several Narnians hesitantly followed him, and Lucy grabbed my hand, pulling me along with the crowd.
"Come on, Peter. Let's see what they want. There are only three of them."
Only three. Somehow, I couldn't stop the growing sense of dread that suddenly pierced my heart.
And nothing could stop the cruel fact that was about to knock the very breath from my lungs.
---
We walked out to the front of the How, standing as a pitifully small crowd as the three soldiers drew nearer. The one in the middle was smaller and slighter than the others, and he alone carried no weapon but a sword at his side, and in his hand was a rolled-up piece of parchment. The other two were tall and bearded, wearing helmets and shirts of fine mail, and they carried swords and daggers at their belts, but they each held one long, green palm branch.
They came closer, and in the grey dawn that slowly spread across the sky, I could finally see their faces.
I screamed.
"ED--!"
I couldn't stop myself. There was a collective, hopeful gasp from the Narnians, and I bolted from my position at the front, nearly blinded by tears as I rushed forward to embrace my brother, my only brother, whom I had thought dead.
Oh sweet Lion, he was alive, alive. That was all that mattered.
Nothing could stop me now.
Nothing except my brother's own sword, which was drawn faster than lightning, and I nearly impaled myself upon it, but came to a stop as soon as I realized it was pointed at me.
There was a heavily pregnant silence, and I stood, frozen, almost comically, as dark eyes met blue, and the wind whipped the dry and barren ground as dawn settled in. Edmund re sheathed his sword without a word, keeping me standing in stunned silence before him, and began casually unrolling the scroll. He spoke up.
" ' I, Miraz, king of Narnia, emperor of The Lone Islands, noble knight of the Serrand circle, named in honor of Sir Serrand the third, who was among the first of the Telmarine kings - to Peter, sometime High King over Narnia, now styling himself as leader of the barbarian Narnian army, defiling the well-known Telmarine law, greeting!
To prevent the abominable effusion of blood, and for the avoiding of all other inconveniences likely to grow from the wars now levied in the realm of Narnia, it is our pleasure to adventure our royal person on behalf of the throne as ruler of Narnia, in clean wager of battle to prove upon your lordship's body that the Telmarine race are the rightful rulers of this savage land.
Therefore we most heartily provoke, challenge, and defy your lordship to the said combat and monomachy, and have sent these letters by the hand of our well-beloved and trusted apprentice, Edmund, sometime king before us in Narnia, Sir How, Duke of Lantern Waste and Count of the Western March, Knight of the most Noble order of the Table, to whom we have given full power of determining with your lordship all the conditions of the said battle.
Given at our lodging in the great Telmarine city, over the Telmar river this eleventh day of the month Greenroof, in the fifteenth year of king Miraz, fourth of that name. ' "
Nothing but the sound of the uneasy muttering of the Narnians and the sound of soldiers moving anxiously in their armor filled the gap of near-silence that we experienced after those striking words. I could not bring myself to say anything.
Miraz was using my brother as my only weakness.
I could not even feel stunned. All I felt was a sick, uneasy cold that chilled my bones.
Edmund looked otherwise unaffected by the silence, rolling up the piece of parchment again as I stared, dumb-struck. Reepicheep bravely, albeit a little timidly, broke the silence.
"So...so it is a challenge? A duel?"
"That's right," My brother replied, dark eyes searching the crowd passively as his raven-black hair blew in the wind. I continued to stare, mouth slightly agape.
"And...who is to duel with the High King?" Reepicheep piped up again, and from that point on, I cursed mice a thousand times over for their common inability to keep quiet.
Edmund let the slightest trace of a wry smile creep across his pale features.
"I am."
---
I could not even remember much of what happened after that striking sentence.
My brother had merely told us all the location of the match, the time, and turned around, stalking off into the fading mist of the wet morning.
One by one, the Narnians began to whisper to one another, vehemently muttering beneath their breaths as they began to walk back into the How. I couldn't bring myself to follow them.
I continued staring after where the three figures had gone, and I let out a shuddering breath, blond locks falling over my eyes haphazardly.
Sweet Aslan...
I had just been broken, remade, and then shattered to pieces once again. Where had my brother gone? Where was the real Edmund, the one I had always loved to such a painful degree? I had confessed that to him countless times before, and his response was always the same.
"Shut-up, Peter, I'm trying to figure out the best way to soundly beat you. Concentration required. You are not going to victor over me at yet another chess game, sir Wolfsbane. Now, where to put my knight..."
Tears began to well up in my eyes at the memory. How on earth could I have resented him so much back in England, where he would so willingly throw himself into the midst of one of my childish brawls with other boys my age for my sake, ever-present, ever always at my back, ever always my brother, my king, and my friend.
"Back-to-back and side-to-side, my kings."
I let a dry, broken sob escape me as I dropped painfully to my knees, wishing for the ground to just open up and swallow me whole right then are there. Why? Why did I have to slowly tear us apart? Why did I have to be such a bloody idiot and shun him, slowly pushing him away and giving him nasty responses when he so calmly asked me a question?
Now, as I reflect back, I realize that the day it really happened was about a year ago...
"Peter..."
"Go away."
"Pete, you're being an idiot. Come out, and for the Lion's sake, do tell me what's wrong!"
"No."
"Fine, then I'm coming in."
I locked the door, leaning heavily against it as I try to shield myself from the world. The world, however, was not going down easily.
Edmund slammed against the door several times, let out an annoyed groan, then all was silence for a few seconds.
The next thing I heard was a painful crunching sound, and a few of Edmund's choice swear words, as he had probably (and painfully) injured his toes.
"BLOODY--! LION'S MANE, PETER, I'M COMING IN WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT."
And then I heard the tell-tale 'click' of the lock being picked, and I cursed vehemently, angry with myself for ever teaching him how to pick locks so easily. The next second, I was sent stumbling forwards across the room, as my brother had slammed into the door with all the force his thin frame could possibly muster at once, sending it flying open. I resisted the urge to scream in pure annoyance.
"Alright, Peter, I'm in, and I'm not leaving until you bloody tell me what the dickens is wrong with you lately. You've been snapping at the girls, you've locked yourself up in your room without a word and won't come out, and I bloody will find out why."
He crossed his arms, expression dark, but it was nothing compared to mine. I scowled at him, standing to my full height of six-foot two, and I let the whirlwind of anger and pain inside of me break free.
"FINE!" I shouted, striding right up close to him, and he didn't even flinch. That made me even more angered.
"FINE. YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY I'VE BEEN LIKE THIS, THEN?"
With narrowed eyes, he spoke softly, completely contrasting my own shouts and loud voice.
"That's why I'm here, isn't it?"
I fumed.
"THEN I'LL TELL YOU. YOU. THAT'S THE PROBLEM," I screamed, coming up with an excuse for my mood right off the bat.
"Me?" He asked, not even fazed.
"YES, YOU. YOU'VE BEEN HOUNDING ME ALL DAY, EVERY DAY, TRYING TO FIND OUT WHAT'S WRONG, PESTERING ME TO NO END, AND I'M SICK AND TIRED OF IT. THE GIRLS DO IT, TOO."
"Peter, I hope you realize that I am your brother, and I have FULL right to 'hound you' if I like. We're a family.Families are supposed to care for one another, or have you forgotten?"
And I slapped him.
I then came out of my angry, vehement state-of-being, horrified at what I had done. Edmund was completely caught off-guard as well, gingerly reaching up his hand to feel the fiery red mark on his cheek where I had hit him. Tears of pain and rejection welled up in his eyes.
"Alright, Peter." He said calmly enough, and he was out the door before I could say anything.
And I was horrified when I felt a twinge of satisfaction.
Much to my immense pain, I remembered that he even still had never left me, never left my side, ever always a king. Ignoring the taunts and jeers I flung at him, he stood by me, never failing to hold me when nightmares plagued me, but never seeming to care as I scowled at him and pushed him over the next day.
Lucy ran straight up to me, flinging her arms around my waist and sobbing openly into my tunic. Susan soon followed suit, and I just held them as I stared out into the mist, letting tears of my own spill from my eyes as everything crashed over me like a flood.
Oh, Aslan, what had I done?
-hands you a tissue-