My heart was pounding against my ribcage. Oxygen briefly passed into my lungs and escaped again as easily as it entered them. Black dots danced before my eyes, my muscles ached, my brain beat out an unrelenting rhythm against my skull. I could not go on any longer; but I did. I had to get away.

I didn't care what noise I made. My feet, calloused from many hours combat training with my generals, thrashed the rich carpet and my breath echoed around the marble corridor, produced a thousand re-creations of my wheezing breath. They carried on for what seemed like forever.

I ran. I ran like a cornered wolf facing an angry village. I had to get away; far away, if not now, at least in the morning, when I could sneak out of the castle easily. Well – not easily, but it would be worth it. Give me something to take my mind off my burning embarrassment, my humiliation, my shame. Something exciting to do would do me good, I thought.

I was reaching my rooms now. I slowed down, my breath rattling in my lungs. Collapsing against the wall, I clunked my head backwards, bashing the back of my skull forcefully onto the marble. The elegant tapestries did practically nothing to cushion my head.

I groaned at my latest representation of my continuous ill luck. The last pangs of sharp, fiery pain pinged around my head before settling into an incessant ache of dull, throbbing pain what I was sure that would not go away until I had taken drastic measures, like sneaking a cunning drop of Lucy's cordial. Susan would give me hell if she found out that I had "stolen from the needy and wanting who need it far, far more than you". Susan, as you may've guessed, had very strong views on this sort of thing. I didn't blame her; Narnia was full of the survivors of the White Witch's cruel reign and the battle for Narnia's freedom. Susan's compassion and kindness forced her to care for these victims in every way; she even brought them into the castle's infirmary so Lucy, her cordial and the royal medics could help them easily. Susan would do anything to help anyone around her, and for that Peter loved her.

Unfortunately, it is an unwritten law of the universe that everyone, however kind, or loving or compassionate or friendly has a dark side. In Susan, her dark side was represented in a strict sense of the rules, an incredibly huge capacity for very boring knowledge (this, I think she had picked up from Edmund) and a terrible sense of vanity, which she thankfully kept to herself. Most of the time, anyway.

I closed my eyes, and I must've fallen asleep for at least a few hours, sitting there on the fluffy carpet. When I abruptly woke up, the feeble light of dawn was shining weakly into my face. A few minutes and a pair of bleary eyes later, I was half – awake. Awake enough to take stock of the situation, and to realise that the inhabitants of Cair Paravel would soon be waking up and finding me, their High King, sprawled against a wall with sleep in his eyes.

Staggering up onto my feet, I blinked fuzzily, trying to clear my eyes. Then I lurched the few hundreds yards to my room and slammed the door, hard enough to ensure my wakefulness, but soft enough to prevent anyone (apart from Susan, of course) hearing me.

I reeled my way drunkenly around my bedchamber, my eye lids drooping. I managed to (gently) crash into a chair and the wardrobe before wobbling my way to the extravagant canopied bed. I climbed inside the dark haven of my embroidered quilt before falling into a deep, deep slumber.

A few hours later, I groaned again at my bad luck. Lucy had taken it upon herself to rouse me cheerfully from my rest – meaning that she had darted into the room unannounced and then ripped the thick curtains away from the windows to flood the room in a golden light: then jumping (not for her own enjoyment, oh no) repeatedly onto my stomach. She was laughing with all the delight of a little sister tormenting her older brother who, no matter what she does, will love her until the day he dies. Lucy knew this fact very well, and took advantage of it; she relished all the sibling tormenting opportunities that came from it.

"Peter, Peter wake up, wake up! Susan wants to speak to you! C'mon, wa-ake u-up!" Lucy screamed this at the top of her lungs, still bouncing all over me.

"Don't make me repeat it!" She warned, sitting back and crossing her arms.

At this point, I was struggling to retain the oxygen in my lungs, which had been bounced out of me by a small fifteen – year – old.

"Peter…" She let her voice trail off into a menacing silence. I could see that this silence encompassed more sibling – torture, as well as one very bounced Peter in the near future if I did not get up right now.

I got up hurriedly. Nothing on this earth is worse than little sister retribution.

"Yes, Peter, now get dressed." Lucy said in the tones of one who has got the power and knows exactly how to use it. She turned away to preserve the innocence of her eyes.

I obediently pulled on my rust – red tunic, brown jodhpurs and my leather boots. I finger combed my tousled dark blonde hair into a presentably messy style before fastening my tunic together over my chest. When I had deemed myself presentable, I turned around and asked Lucy what she thought. She nodded, walked around me and straitened the creases in my tunic. I rolled my eyes good – naturedly at her behaviour.

Then she took me by the hand, and chattering like a squirrel, she led me to our throne room. I nodded amicably to the guards on the door (a faun and a jaguar) and the great glass doors were opened from the inside. They glided smoothly apart on oiled hinges, to reveal Susan lounging on her throne, next to mine. She was talking to some of our advisors and as we approached she dismissed them.

"Ah, Peter." I had a bad feeling about this.

"Good morning, Susan. I trust you slept well?" I murmured politely. I stared at a point approximately two feet above her head. I still had not forgiven her our argument.

"Well enough thank you Peter. I don't suppose Lucy has told you about the nature of our meeting?"

We both looked at Lucy, but she addressed Susan.

"No, I thought you would tell him." She stated boldly, almost challenging Susan. I briefly wondered if they too had had some sort of argument but I couldn't think for the life of me why.

"Well, Peter," – She turned her attention back to me – "We need to talk."

"About what, dear sister?"

"We need to talk about Edmund, Peter."

What? Why would we need to talk about Edmund? I don't suppose that Susan had spoken to him about last night…Would Edmund do that? Would he tell her about our private affairs, for lack of a better word?

"Lucy, haven't you got your lessons soon? Don't you need to prepare for them?" Susan said in syrupy tone whilst still staring at me.

Lucy, with one uncertain glance at me, nodded and scampered away.

"Why do we need to talk about Edmund?" Despite the seriousness of the situation, I found myself curious.

"I'm forbidding you from seeing him."

After what seemed like an age, I found it within myself to speak.

"Why do you think you can do that? He's my brother too, Susan."

"We found him this morning, crying in his sleep, moaning your name, Peter. Why your name?" She hissed.

"I…I don't know." I muttered. I was tired. So tired.

"I don't know, either, Peter. He wouldn't tell us. So I thought, and thought…and when I had finished thinking I came to a conclusion: you must've hurt him in some way. And I don't want you to hurt my little brother anymore Peter. I want you to stop."

"So I can't see him?" I croaked.

"Yes." She looked triumphant.

"And why do you think that just forbidding me from seeing him will stop me seeing him, Susan? Why do you think that your authority overrides mine? I can stop you seeing him, because I'm the High King. You can't stop me, Susan."

"Oh, but I can." She sat back in her chair. "You will be under house arrest until Edmund recovers. And that is the end of the matter."

I was dismissed.

I was crushed.

I was angry.

I spoke clearly. "Susan, if you deem me unfit to visit my brother, then I shall not visit him. I will respect your wishes in this matter, but believe me; I shall not forgive you this offence. You will regret this decision one day, Susan, and then you will apologise. But for now, I will leave you to your petty decisions and your vanity, and your jealousy. Goodbye, my sister; I love you."

With that, I left the throne room, not looking behind me once. I had left my sister behind, in a different world entirely.

Drama or what, eh?

Just so you know:

Jodhpurs are English riding trousers. They're clingy and made out of a thick, soft material.

I forgot to mention that the Pevensies can remember pretty much everything that happened to them before the wardrobe incident.

I was really tired when I wrote this, so the ending deteriorated somewhat. Sorry! But tell me what you think anyway.

~pearlsofweird