The suggested categories are:

a. an emotion

b. a color

c. an adjective

d. an element (fire, earth, air or water)

e. a Creature or Animal (must be mentioned somewhere in one of Lewis's Narnia books).

From OldFashionedGirl95 I have: fear, white, broken, earth and Horse. Here's the story I made from them.

Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.

Warning: Major character defenestration.

THE KEEP

Bearclaw Firth was about four miles up the coast, due north of Cair Paravel. Since the coronation, Peter had often looked from his balcony towards it, watching the sun glint off the water and off the abandoned Keep that stood at its near side. There was something about that Keep that interested him. Not anything magical or mysterious really. It was just abandoned and melancholy, and he thought it might make a nice place to explore one day. He didn't know it would be over a year before he got the chance. Who knew being King would keep him so very busy? He spent so much time learning to be a man and a King, he usually forgot to just be a boy.

"Come on, Ed." He slowed his unicorn and turned around to see what was keeping his brother this time. "Or would you rather have stayed back at the Cair and have Susan teach you embroidery along with Lucy?"

"No!" Edmund scrunched up his nose in distaste and then laughed. "Not that Lu didn't want to come along with us, too."

Peter grinned. "Well, Susan can try all she wants, but I have a feeling she'll never quite make Lucy into a proper young lady. Now come on. If you don't hurry up, by the time we get there, we'll just have to turn around and come right back again."

Edmund scowled. "Tell him that."

Peter looked at his brother's Horse. "What is it this time, Phillip?"

Phillip exhaled noisily. "You two finally have a break from your duties, but do you stay at home where it's warm and dry? No. No, even on a miserable, drizzly day like this, you have to go tearing up the coast to look at an old tower that hasn't been lived in for a hundred years. Why?"

Peter laughed. "I told you. Because it's there. And it's not raining anymore."

"You didn't have to come if you didn't want to," Edmund added. "I could have ridden another horse."

As expected, that put a stop to Phillip's objections. Instead, he picked up his pace, and before long they were standing at the base of the Keep. It was made of weathered grey stone, about forty-five feet tall and perfectly square. Not ruined, not exactly, but certainly in disrepair. Peter smiled as he looked up at it. He had always loved heights and exploring things. Mum said that when he was a toddler he was never any trouble except for his terrifying tendency to try to climb everything he saw. He didn't know what it was, but there was something glorious and freeing about standing above the world, seeing for miles and miles around, close to the sky, close to Aslan.

He gave his unicorn a swat on the rump, and the beast ambled down the hill a few yards and started snuffling at the lush spring grass growing there. Edmund was busy unsaddling Phillip, and Peter made quick work of his bridle.

"Have a nice roll in the grass," Edmund told the Horse as he pulled off the saddle and tossed it on the ground. "And don't wander too far."

Phillip snorted and trotted off, muttering something to himself, and Edmund frowned.

"I do not sound like Susan!"

Phillip merely snickered and, kicking up his heels, went to join the unicorn.

Peter flung the bridle on top of the saddle and turned towards the Keep. "What do you reckon's in there, Ed? Treasure?"

Edmund slung the pouch with their lunch in it over his shoulder and looked up at the imposing place. "Dunno. Probably nothing by now. After a hundred years? Whatever was in there is likely long gone."

"Won't know until we look," Peter replied, and he walked through the dark, empty doorway.

The wan sun left a pale rectangle of light on the dirty flagstones, but it wasn't enough to brighten the room that covered the entire ground floor. There were still torches in the holders on either side of the opening, though, and Peter took the flint and steel from the pouch at his belt. Soon he and Edmund each had a light.

Peter held up his torch, still unable to tell how far above them the ceiling was. There was a fluttering in the darkness over his head, and then he heard a small voice.

"Who's there?"

Peter shifted his torch to his left hand and put his right on Rhindon 's hilt. "Peter, the High King."

"Who are you?" Edmund demanded, moving closer to his brother as he, too, clutched his sword.

Suddenly there were dozens and dozens of the little voices along with more fluttering and flapping. "The High King! The High King!"

Peter and Edmund looked at each other, bewildered, until a tiny Bat swooped into view and landed on one of the empty torch holders.

"I am Orfeo. We are honored, Your Majesty. And may we assume this is the King Edmund?"

"Our royal brother, good cousin," Peter said, smiling. "We are sorry to have disturbed all of you."

"It is nothing, Your Majesty," the Bat replied, his small voice thick with sleep. "Is there something you seek from us?"

Peter felt his face turn warm. "I– We just wanted to see what's here. Is that all right?"

Orfeo bowed his tiny head. "You are both most welcome, My King. Would you care to have one of my people as a guide?"

"I thank you, but no need to trouble yourselves. Anything we ought to be careful of?" Peter asked.

"I think not, Sire," said the Bat, "but you might keep sharp watch if you go above. It is no hindrance to us, but some of the stones have begun to crumble. The wood of the floors is old and hasn't been looked to since before the Great Winter. Some of it may not be sturdy enough now to hold a Son of Adam." Orfeo glanced at Edmund. "Even a small one."

Peter concealed a grin at his brother's scowl. "We will be careful, good cousin, and we thank you. I pray you, all of you, return to your rest. We will do our best to not disturb you further."

Surrounded by a shrill chorus of goodbyes and a few "Lion's blessings upon Your Majesties," the boys made their way across the huge hall towards the yawning blackness of another doorway.

Peter peered into it, his torch lighting only the first few steps of the stone stairs that went down into the darkness. "If there's a secret treasure chamber, it'll be down there, don't you think?"

Behind him, Edmund was silent for a moment. "And the dungeons."

"And who knows what else?" Peter felt his heart beat a little faster, imagining chests of gold and jewels and old armor and maybe even a grinning skeleton still in century-old shackles. "Come on."

He was four or five steps down when he realized his brother wasn't following him.

"Well, come on, Ed."

Peter's turned and looked up into the dimness, and his smile faded. Edmund's face was pale and pinched looking in the flickering light of his torch.

"Peter, I don't– I don't want to go down there. To the dungeons." He licked his trembling lips. "I'll just wait for you."

Peter gave him a gentle smile. "Sorry, Ed. I didn't think."

He knew, even though it had been a year, that his little brother still sometimes had nightmares about being imprisoned by the White Witch. He could hardly blame Edmund for not wanting to be reminded of it now.

"Um, would it bother you if I just popped down for a quick look? I mean, just in case there is something down there?"

Edmund forced a tight smile. "Go ahead. Just don't get yourself into trouble."

With a grin, Peter scampered down the stairs. Just as quickly, he scampered back up again.

"What's down there?" Edmund asked, clearly surprised to see him back so soon.

"I dunno besides three feet of water. So much for a treasure chamber."

Edmund laughed, all the tenseness in his face suddenly gone. "I guess we'll have to go up then."

"Right."

Peter beamed at him and led the way to a door set in the corner of the great hall. As he suspected, behind the door was a narrow spiral stairway, the stone steps wide on the left side and narrowing to nothing on the right. He remembered reading once that they were purposely built that way so that the defender such a place coming down the steps would have more room to swing his sword than an invader coming up. Woe betide such a defender if he happened to be left handed, and even more woe if his opponent was as well.

They went up several steps and then opened the first doorway they came to. As it was below, the first floor was one large, empty room. There were a few more windows here, so Peter could see fairly well. Clearly whatever had been here had been taken away over the Great Winter. He stepped tentatively on the wooden floor, remembering the Bat's warning, but it felt sound. Even when he jumped on it, holding onto the door, it didn't budge.

"I guess it's safe enough, Ed. Come on."

They walked around the empty room and looked out the windows.

"Can't see much from this floor," Edmund said, looking towards Cair Paravel, and Peter nodded towards the stairway.

"Let's go up."

The second floor was just as bleak and empty and so was the third except for some sort of tall wooden folding screen and a ratty old bedstead in one corner. Except for the Bats, this wasn't turning out to be nearly as exciting as Peter had imagined.

He sighed. "Well, at least we know the place is mostly still in good shape. It could use some work, but it could be habitable again if someone wanted to live here. Maybe Oreius would have some military use for it."

Edmund turned from the window where he had been exchanging friendly gibes with Phillip down below and smiled. "I can see the Cair now. Lucy was waving to me from your balcony."

Peter chuckled. "Liar. It's four miles away. You cannot see her from here."

"She was either waving or calling for us to rescue her from Susan and embroidery lessons."

"Now that I believe. Come on. We're almost to the top."

They put their torches in the holders on that floor and climbed the last of the stairs. Soon they were standing in the wan sunshine.

"It still hasn't cleared up," Peter said, hurrying to look over the edge.

There were arrow loops in the wall that ran around the top of the Keep, but the wall was about three feet thick and it wasn't crenellated, so it was hard to see very much. Peter finally climbed up on top of it, drawing a deep, satisfied breath as he looked down on the fields, the forest, the sea, all the world. All Narnia seemed touched with that soft golden glow that came after a rain.

Edmund stood tiptoe, trying to see through an arrow loop, too. Then he made a little huffing noise. "No fair."

Peter grinned at him and offered him a hand. "Come on."

He hauled Edmund up onto the wide wall beside him, and they both sat silently for a moment, their booted feet dangling free over the side.

"That's one thing I asked her, you know, that I still wish she'd done."

Peter looked at his brother, brows knit together. "One thing you asked who?"

"Jadis. When I first met her in Lantern Waste. She poured something out of this little bottle, and it turned into something hot to drink. She said she could make anything I liked, and I asked her if she could make me taller."

Peter laughed. "You don't need magic for that, silly. Just some more time."

Edmund sighed and leaned his chin on his hand. "Even the Bats think I'm little."

"It won't be for forever."

"But what if it is? What if I never get to be tall?"

Peter put a comforting arm around his shoulders. "That's not very likely, is it? Dad's tall. Mum's pretty tall. For a lady, I mean. Even Susan's tall. Why wouldn't you be?"

"I'll never be as tall as you," Edmund grumbled.

"Maybe not." Peter thought for a moment. "Maybe you'll be taller."

Edmund only scoffed.

"I can tell you for certain, though," Peter said, "neither of us will get any taller if we don't eat."

Edmund grinned and opened the pouch with their lunch in it. They each had two sandwiches of thickly sliced roast beef on hearty brown bread with just the right amount of mustard. And Susan had slipped in a few cherry tarts for them as well. There was nothing like adventuring to bring on the appetite.

Once they were done, Peter stretched himself out on his back right there on the top of the wall and looked up at the still-cloudy sky. The sun told him it was mid-afternoon.

"I suppose we'll have to be heading back soon. Sorry there wasn't really much to see."

Edmund only looked out over the forest and smiled a little shyly. "I'm glad we came. Just you and me."

Peter closed his eyes, smiling, too. "So am I, Ed."

Despite what he had just said, Peter felt in no hurry to leave. The brothers stayed where they were for nearly an hour, thinking, dozing, rarely speaking. Finally Peter sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"All right, we really have to go now. If we don't get home before dark, Susan will likely send someone after us. And if she doesn't, Oreius will."

He stood up on the wall, heart swelling with love and pride as he took one last longing look at the kingdom stretched out below him, as he looked towards the south where Cair Paravel stood shining on the edge of the Eastern Sea. Edmund stood up next to him, that same love and pride gleaming in his dark eyes, and then he turned to Peter.

"Couldn't we sleep here tonight and go home in the morning?"

Peter couldn't say he wasn't tempted, but he shook his head. "We have to get back to work tomorrow, Ed. No more days off. Besides, if we don't come back, everyone will start worrying about us. And, anyway, we don't have any more food."

Edmund settled the pouch back on his shoulder with a smug little grin. "Who says?"

"What? What else did Susan pack for us?"

"Nothing." Edmund shrugged negligently. "Just some of her apple cake."

"You have apple cake?" Peter pretended to look fierce. "You have apple cake, and you didn't tell me?"

Again Edmund shrugged. "You didn't need to know about it since I'm going to eat it all myself."

Peter tried to grab him, but Edmund only giggled and pattered away, holding out his arms for balance. Peter followed after him, making dire threats that only made Edmund giggle more. Finally he reached the corner of the tower, grinning as he glanced back to see if Peter was still after him.

"You can't catch–"

His eyes widened as one of the stones crumbled under his foot, and then, arms flailing, he toppled over the side.

"Ed!"

Peter lunged for him, falling hard on the top of the wall as his fingers brushed his brother's tunic but caught nothing. He scrambled to his knees, looking down what was now a sickening distance to the ground, but he saw nothing but the lush grass and a some brush that had tumbled against the base of the Keep. Edmund wasn't there.

"Edmund! Edmund!"

Chest heaving, Peter shoved himself off the wall and back onto the roof of the Keep. He bolted to the stairway, grabbed one of the torches they had left on the third floor and began the interminable round of narrow steps down and down and down, scraping his hands on the stone walls to catch himself when he stumbled.

Edmund. Edmund. Please be alive. Don't die. I'm coming. Don't die. Aslan, don't let him die.

He stumbled again as he passed the door to the second floor and his torch flew out of his hand, rolling down the stairs ahead of him, flaring and sputtering until it finally lay half on and half off one of the steps. Peter merely scooped it up and raced on, down and down in endless rounds.

Where could he be? How could he not be down there? Aslan, please. I can't lose him. Not again. I can't. Susan will kill me. She said we'd likely fall and break our necks. She'll kill me. Please, Edmund, Eddie, don't be dead. I can't lose you. I can't. I can't. I can't.

His legs began to tremble and his heaving lungs to burn as he forced himself to keep moving, down and down, past the door to the first floor, heading towards the ground floor at last. No sound but the slap of his boots on stone and the sobbing gasp of his breath.

Aslan, please. Please, please, please. I can't. I can't. I can't.

He burst through the ground floor door and dashed across the flagstones, tossing his torch aside as he reached the opening that led outside, again startling the Bats out of their sleep, making them rustle and mutter above his head.

"I'm coming! Eddie, I'm coming!"

He sprinted out into the sunlight, blinking, half dazed, wondering which way to turn. He had to check the brush where Edmund fell. Perhaps he had–

Peter ran around to the back of the Keep, still with the words running in his head. Aslan, please. Don't be dead, Eddie. Please, Aslan. I can't. I can't. Don't be dead.

As he feared, there was no sign of Edmund at the base of the Keep. No sign of him anywhere.

"Edmund!" Peter screamed. "Edmund!"

"King Peter! Over here!"

Peter spun at the sound of Phillip's voice and bolted down to the bottom of the hillside where the Horse and the unicorn were standing. Somehow, by some outrageous miracle, Edmund was sitting in the grass at their feet, blinking and cradling his left arm against his chest.

"Edmund!"

Flooded with relieved tears, Peter threw himself to his knees beside him, touching his face, his shoulders, his hair. He was alive. He was scraped and bruised and bloodied, but somehow he was alive. Alive.

"Edmund," Peter panted. "How in the world–"

Edmund only looked dazed. "I think I mashed the apple cake."

Peter laughed and cried and wanted to hug him tight, but he didn't dare. Edmund might be more hurt than he looked.

"What happened?" he urged instead.

The pouch containing the remains of the cake was still around Edmund's neck, hanging down his back now, and Peter took it from him. Then he laid him back on the grass so he could look him over.

"How did you get all the way down here, Ed?"

"I– I dunno. I think I hurt my arm."

Peter checked it over swiftly. It was broken.

"I heard your cry, High King," Phillip told Peter. "When I turned, King Edmund was already tumbling down the hillside. I believe his arm broke when he hit that big rock about halfway up."

Peter looked up the hillside. There was a nasty-looking stone, the same kind of stone the Keep was made of, half buried in the black earth. He was glad Edmund had hit it with his arm and not his head. Peter rummaged in the pouch for the little skin of water that was in it. He gave Edmund a drink and then carefully wiped the blood and dirt from his face with a wet handkerchief.

"Where do you hurt, Ed?"

Edmund blinked at him again. "All over, I think. My arm."

"Anyplace really bad?"

Edmund shook his head and then grimaced. "Mostly my arm."

Peter made him wiggle his fingers and toes and twist his body from one side to the other. Then he sat him up again and had him very carefully turn his head and roll his shoulders. Truly, it was a miracle that a broken arm was the worst of Edmund's injuries.

"What happened, Edmund? What do you remember?"

"Not anything really. I was up there, and then I was down here. Aslan must have–"

Peter nodded, cupping Edmund's cheek in his hand. "He must have. There's no other way."

He looked up at the Keep looming over them now, the late afternoon sun setting its stones afire. He wished they'd never come. He wished he'd never led Edmund here to almost die. He wished–

"Peter?" Edmund sagged against him. "Can we go home now?"

"Just a few more minutes, Ed. Let's get you fixed up first."

Peter pulled off his tunic and then his shirt and then put his tunic back on again. He used the shirt to make a sling for Edmund's arm and then helped him to stand up.

"Do you think you can ride?"

"Sure."

Edmund started to walk back up the hill towards where they had left Phillip's saddle and bridle, and then he crashed to one knee. Peter barely managed to keep him from falling flat.

"Maybe I'd better ride with you. Phillip, would that be all right?"

The Horse nodded. "I can carry you both."

"Do you mind if we ride bareback? I don't really want to bother with the saddle right now, and you don't need the extra weight anyway."

"Very well, High King."

Phillip made a worried, snuffling sort of sound when Peter carefully lifted Edmund onto his back.

"Just relax and let me see to everything," Peter told his brother once he had swung up onto the Horse's back behind him.

Edmund grasped Peter's arm with his right hand, uncertain fear in his dark eyes. He wasn't used to riding without a saddle.

"I don't think I can–"

"I won't let you fall," Peter said, and then he glanced back at the Keep once more and swallowed hard. "I won't let you fall again. Phillip, as quick as you can, please, but carefully."

They set off for Cair Paravel, the unicorn following quietly behind them. Before they had gone even a mile, Peter nudged Phillip into a stop.

"He's asleep," Peter told the Horse. "I don't know if that's good or bad."

"I don't know, King Peter. Just as I don't know what you were thinking playing tig atop a wall forty-five feet above the ground."

Peter cringed at the severity of the Horse's tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't think–"

"Exactly. You didn't think. Just what do you think Oreius will say when you bring him home like this? And the Queen Susan? Didn't you come close enough to losing him last year?"

Peter ducked his head, fighting tears and clutching his sleeping brother a little more tightly. Oh, Aslan, what might have happened–

Phillip snorted, and they rode the rest of the way home in silence.

It was dark by the time they reached Cair Paravel. Oreius and a few of his soldiers hurried out to meet them, most of them with torches to light the way.

"A Bat came to tell us what happened and that you were on your way back." The Centaur general studied Edmund's face for a moment, his own grim and touched with more than a little reproof. "You'd best get him inside. We will speak of this later."

Peter only nodded, too ashamed and heartsick to say anything or even look him in the face. He rode Phillip up to the castle gates and then dismounted, careful not to wake Edmund, hoping he could get him inside and up to his room before–

"What have you done?" Susan hurried out to him, her full lips pressed into a hard line, her blue eyes crackling with anger as she saw Edmund lying still and battered in his arms. "How bad is it? The Bat said–"

"His arm is broken. He's pretty badly bruised. I don't think there's anything else wrong. I can only think Aslan must have been watching after him. But I'd better get him into his bed. Could you get one of the–"

"The healers are already up there waiting for him." She stroked Edmund's hair and traced her fingers over his bruised cheek. "So's Lucy."

Peter nodded and trudged towards the stairs that led to their quarters. Susan followed after him.

"What in the world were you doing?" Susan demanded. "How did it happen?"

Peter looked down at Edmund's pale face and shook his head. "I don't know. I just–"

"You just weren't watching out for him."

"No, I was just–"

"You were just so determined to explore that stupid Keep, you nearly killed our brother." Tears spilled down Susan's cheeks, and she swiftly wiped them away. "I– I'd better go make sure his bed is ready and see there's a bath drawn for you."

She hurried away, and Peter stood where he was for a moment, holding Edmund against his chest, his own tears brimming.

"We were just playing."

He said it to no one, to everyone, even though it was no more than a whisper. Then he drew a steadying breath and carried Edmund up to his room.

As Susan had said, the healers were already there, waiting for them. Lucy was standing by with her cordial if it was needed, but they shooed her and Peter both out into the corridor while they made their examination. Lucy merely buried herself in Peter's arms.

"It doesn't look as bad as the Bat made it sound," she said with a tremulous smile on her tear-stained little face. "Do you think he'll be all right?"

"I dunno, Lu. I hope so. That tower was so terribly high and–" He bit his lip, waiting until he felt a bit steadier. "It's already a miracle he's alive, so I can't imagine Aslan won't bring him through now."

Her eyes were bright, and she nodded eagerly. "Are you all right, Rabbit?"

He laughed faintly at the old pet name, and then, before he realized it, he was clutching her tightly against himself, his whole body trembling. "Oh, Lu, I'm so sorry. I should have taken better care of him. I shouldn't have let him go up there with me. I shouldn't have–"

"Shh, shh, it's all right." She pulled his head to her shoulder and stroked his hair. "The healers will take care of him, and if they say it's bad, we'll give him some of the cordial. He's going to be fine. You said it yourself. Aslan already saved his life today. He's not going to let Edmund die now."

"But I shouldn't have–"

"And you know what Edmund would tell you? He'd say he loved being there with you and that what happened was just an accident. Not the least bit your fault."

"Your majesties?"

The Dryad called them into Edmund's room. He was lying still and small in the great bed, his arm splinted, the bandages hardly whiter than his pale face, but the healers did not look overly concerned.

"Truly, Aslan has been with you, My King. Other than his broken arm, his injuries are minor. He will recover soon."

Peter thanked them all and dismissed them. Then he sat on the side of the bed, watching his brother sleep. Lucy snuggled up beside him, beaming at him.

"I told you it would be all right," she said.

He nodded, his eyes fixed on Edmund.

"He's all right, Peter. Really." Lucy pressed a little closer. "I know. How about you and I take a couple of Gryphons tomorrow and fly out over the sea? You've always liked that. Won't you come, Rabbit? Please."

Peter still looked at Edmund lying there, knowing he'd so nearly been lost. But Peter had just wanted to be a boy for the day. He'd just wanted run and explore and imagine. He'd just wanted to forget, only for one day, that he was the High King, that everyone depended on him, and that they were his responsibility.

He'd just wanted to play.

"No," he told her gravely. "I don't think I care for heights anymore."

Author's Note: OldFashionedGirl95 is writing a wonderful story set in the Golden Age. In it, she makes a passing reference to an incident where Edmund falls from a castle keep. I, of course, wanted a details about that particular incident, and she very graciously allowed me to write my own version. I hope it meets with her approval and yours. Lucy's nickname for Peter is also her creation. And, yes, I realize this was not technically defenestration, but it was near enough and I wanted to use the word.

–WD