Orieus was limping as fast as he could go. On his back, Edmund was silent and unmoving, slumped over and still clutching his injured arm. The rain was still falling hard and fast, and showed no sign up letting up; at least the lightning was offering some illumination to the forest now and then. And although Orieus was trying to keep his mind on the task at hand and get King Edmund home swiftly and safely, a voice in the back of his mind was constantly reminding him of the horrible truth.
"You left him."
Promises and vows of fealty and protection, and he left his King behind. The logical part of his mind kept reminding him that it was the best course of action, given the circumstance. And that he could –no, was- going back for him, as soon as he saw the younger of the two back to safety.
There was nothing for it; Zaurus was dead, Edmund was injured, and Peter was, like it or not, in the hands of the enemy. Time was of the essence. The rain was falling harder, and had turned the air from pleasantly warm to a deep chill. To top it all off, Orieus could feel his injured side and arm sear with every movement he made. Though he wasn't positive of the extent of his injuries, they certainly felt deep, and seemed to still be bleeding. Between chill and blood loss, Orieus could only grit his teeth and pray that he would be able to return Edmund to Cair Paravel before anything else happened.
Speaking of Edmund, the boy had not made a sound since they fled from the fight.
"Lord Edmund, are you well?"
His only response was a grunt.
"You're injured, Sire. I must know if you are well enough to continue, or if we should stop and find shelter for the night."
He waited for an answer. And waited. He was about to stop and let the boy down when Edmund spoke.
"Keep going till we reach the Cair." There was another pause, "If you're well enough."
His voice was grave, but there was a determination behind it that made a deep feeling of pride well up against the pain of the wounds. Lighting flashed again as thunder roared above them.
"The storm is above us, Sire. Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"Edmund?"
"…Yes?"
"I have no intention of leaving your brother. I will return for him."
He could feel the young King's muscles tensing on his back.
"Then why, why in the name of Aslan, did you leave him?"
"I had no other choice."
Edmund's fist slammed down on his back, right where human met horse. Orieus winced, but ignored it; he had a feeling it wasn't that the king wanted to hit him, so much as he just wanted to hit something.
"How," Edmund asked, wavering voice betraying his hurt, "was there no other choice? We could have easily helped him! Orieus! How?"
Orieus wished he could slow and speak to the boy face-to-face, but a swift return was needed. So instead he kept talking over his shoulder.
"We were out numbered, my King. Horribly outnumbered. If I had decided to go into the fray and help your brother, we could have all easily been lost."
He heard a slight hiccuping noise behind him.
"Have hope, my King. I do not believe they will…" He paused, slowly closing his mouth.
"…Kill him." The boy finished for him. Orieus only nodded, wishing he had spoken the words himself.
Small, bony hands gripped his shoulders hard. He heard Edmund swallow in great gulps a few times before he spoke.
"…You…you're sure?"
"Yes, majesty." This was a bit of a lie, but Orieus felt it was the better response, "Though I still wish to rescue him as soon as possible."
Edmund sat a little higher on his back,
"Then hurry, Orieus. If you can."
Orieus just nodded, an almost-smile twitching the corners of his mouth. Edmund was young, yet, so young. And yet he had grown so from that darkly shy boy he had first met. His ordeal under the Witch must be burning at his memory, though, and Orieus wondered if he himself could ever understand it. But he did understand they myriad of reasons why Edmund would want his brother back swiftly.
He galloped on, praying for strength.
It was nearly an hour before Cair Paravel and the city before her came into sight. Orieus was sure they hadn't ridden that far out, but by now his wounds were making him slightly dizzy, and he wouldn't be entirely shocked if he had turned them horribly around at some point.
The Cair at night was a sight to behold; candles burned at every window, and fires in the watch towers lit the castle up with an almost otherworldly light. It was a beautiful, imposing structure even in bright sunlight, but at night, with lightning from over the Easter Sea illuminating her in glorious flashes, the Cair look spectacular.
Orieus fought the urge to slow down. Surely, the watchmen would be on alert, as neither of their kings had returned when they were supposed to. But he couldn't count on them to come out and help. Sheer willpower was the only thing keeping the centaur moving now.
Rain stung at his face now that they were out of the woods and into the fields surrounding Paravel. The wind, with little in its path to stop it, whipped at them, and he could feel Edmund bury his head in his shoulder. Flying down one of the paths through the tall grass, they seemed to be nearing the Cair at a painfully slow rate.
Then came the most wonderful sound Orieus had heard all night: the horns of the watchmen. They'd seen their approach, and the clear trumpeting echoed above even the thunder. If he squinted, Orieus could make out the massive gates opening in welcome.
It seemed to take forever, but eventually he was racing through the city and finally into the gates. Bells rang above him, signaling the return of their King. Servants and guardsmen rushed up to meet them. Two fauns immediately helped Edmund down, and upon seeing his state, quickly and quietly began to lead him off. Orieus closed his eyes, taking a moment to catch his breath. His lungs were on fire, as were his legs. But he had made it. King Edmund was safe from danger.
"General Orieus? You're injured."
Orieus blinked, startled for a moment. He looked to his right to see a motherly looking bear with spectacles holding a warm cloak in her hands.
"Yes." He said shortly, not feeling up to full sentences.
"Then come into the Cair and the healers will see to you. There's no sense in standing out here, now is there? Honestly, you soldiers have no sense at all sometimes..."
Orieus allowed himself to be shuffled into the healer's wards in the east wing of the Cair, moving slowly, finally having a moment to catch up with himself. When he entered, he was immediately assailed by a gaggle of healers (mostly fauns, who as excellent fretters, tend to make excellent healers,) and immediately was stripped of his overtunic and cloak, as well as the single knife he still had left on his person.
After seen Edmund being cleaned and bandaged, Orieus allowed the same for himself. He was given a tea and several oat cakes (which he was more grateful for than he'd like to admit,) before standing and taking up his knife once again.
"What do you think you're doing, Sir?" One aghast healer asked, clip clopping over to him.
"I'm going to retrieve another sword and go back for King Peter." He explained, slightly agitated.
"Oh no you will not." The faun admonished, "You just made an hour long run in the freezing rain with multiple injuries. You're in no fit condition to go anywhere, General."
"My condition aside, our good King is still in those woods and in need of assistance…"
"You've only been here thirty minutes--"
"And he's been our there for an hour and thirty minutes--"
"And do you think he does not have his own wits about him?" The healer cut in sharply, making Orieus stop and stare, "Do you think that clever young lad hasn't taken in a single thing you've taught him about survival? No, I have more faith in him than that and I should hope that you do as well. Now you are not going to be of any use to him in the condition you're in. You at least need to catch your breath and gather yourself before you can do anything for him."
Orieus stared at the faun, (wasn't his name Ghebren?) and considered his words, a feeling of shame starting to creep upon him. Peter wasn't helpless, and never had been…he was clever and resourceful, and Orieus himself had taught him and Edmund and their sisters what to do in just such a scenario.
He put a hand to his chest: his lungs were still burning, and his legs suddenly felt weak from the run. Ghebren seemed to see the change in him and shook his head, a small smile at his lips.
"I'll get you some more tea, warm you up." He said, tottering off.
Orieus reached out a hand to a table, steadying himself when there was suddenly a pale hand on his arm. He looked down to see Edmund, his injured arm in a sling, looking up at him, eyes glinting.
"I understand." He said simply.
"Sire?"
Edmund's eyes never even blinked, "I know why you had to leave him. I understand, I did all along, I just…I didn't want to accept it. But understand, Orieus, this means I'm putting my trust in you to get him back to me in one piece."
Orieus gave Edmund a small smile, "I fully intend to."
"Good." The young king replied, before smiling a little himself as Ghebren came back, another steaming cup of tea in his hands, thrusting it at Orieus. The centaur smiled his thanks and drank deeply, Edmund's words renewing his sense of love and duty for his Kings.
A/N: Again, big ol' thanks to Subbie, Wiff, and Elecktrum for all their help!
