A/N They just can't stay out of trouble can they? Or I won't let them anyway! Hope everyone still likes this! Best way to let me know is in a review!*hint hint!*
Cold. That was the first sensation Edmund became aware of as he woke up. 'Odd. It's not cold in Calormen. I must be underground.' The next thing he became aware of was the fact that his arms were pinned above his head by something also cold. A violent clink of chains sounded next to him and before he opened his eyes Edmund said,
"Don't struggle. It just makes it hurt worse. Trust me, I know." The struggling stopped instantly and there was a sharp exhale of breath.
"Thank the Lion! Ed, I was wondering when you would wake up!" Edmund groaned as he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. He was indeed underground in a dark dungeon and his and Peter's arms were both chained above their heads by manacles and the boys themselves sat slumped on the stone ground.
"How are you? Are you hurt? Peter asked, worry lacing his voice.
"I'm fine. Just a head ache and stiff shoulders. You?"
"Same. Quite a mess we've gotten ourselves into." Edmund only nodded looking around the small room. Flashes entered his mind's eye unbidden. A different dungeon, chains too tight, much much colder.
"Ed! We'll get out of this. I won't let anything happen to you." Peter knew his brother well enough to know where his mind was going. It was the same thing he himself had nightmares about.
"It's not me I'm worried about." Edmund said softly. Last time he was in a dungeon, the events that followed very nearly ended with Peter being killed. Granted he himself had come much closer to death but that made little difference to Edmund.
"Ed…" Before Peter got the chance to finish chastising his little brother, the door to the dirty dungeon swung open at the top of a stairwell that led to the exit. The Tisroc, Vizier, and Daka all entered with the Tisroc leading the way, his stride overly confident. Daka stood behind with head bowed, apparently in shame.
"Well, look at the mighty kings of Narnia. I told you we would see who the better nation was." The Tisroc gloated with a laugh.
"Yes better at deception and dishonesty to be sure as well as foul play. However, Narnians are clearly the better fighter. How's that eye, Grand Vizier?" Peter asked, keeping a cocky mask on, unwilling to show weakness to this scum. And the Vizier's eye was indeed black and blue.
The Tisroc bent down and viciously punched Peter in the side, causing the boy to squirm away and cough as the breath was knocked from his lungs. Edmund growled animalisticly and the sound was so startling and frightening that the Tisroc actually took a step away from Peter and all eyes fell on Edmund.
"Don't…touch…my brother." He ground out through clenched teeth. The momentarily startled Tisroc snapped out of the daze and was angered that the young man had been able to elicit such a response.
"You are not in control anymore, boy! You and your brother are at my mercy now and I assure you I have no mercy. You will both be dead by this time tomorrow." With that the Tisroc and Vizier stormed out leaving Daka to throw an apologetic look at the kings and follow after his father.
"Well that was reassuring." Peter stated as the door closed.
"Don't Peter. Don't joke about this!" Edmund said angrily. His own death he could handle but not Peter's. Never Peter. Peter sighed. He was thinking along the same lines. He had only felt this level of fear once before. A fear so deep your gut twisted and you thought you would die from the feeling of it mixed with grief. He had promised himself never to go through that again, he had promised to keep Edmund, his baby brother, safe. But how?
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How shall this be handled? There is a certain amount of politics involved." The Tisroc pondered thoughtfully.
"Please father! Why must they be killed? They have done nothing wrong!" Prince Daka pleaded desperately.
"Bah! Your heart is too soft my son! That will need to be changed. But first the matter at hand. Vizier, what ideas do you have?" The Grand Vizier had been sitting quietly through this exchange but now he looked up with a none-to-friendly smile.
"We wish to overtake Narnia and further our own standing. Have them compete, one at a time, against the undefeated Rasheed in Calormen's game of choice. Not only will we obtain Narnia but further our own standings in the world's eyes by having a Calormen warrior kill the mighty kings of Narnia." The Tisroc digested this suggestion, and then broke out into a jolly, malicious laugh.
"Brilliant! Have the arena prepared and Rasheed notified immediately."
"As you wish my lord." The Vizier said, bowing and exiting the room.
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Being locked in a dungeon was very boring and uncomfortable, Peter decided. They had been locked in the same position for over twenty-four hours now and both their arms were cramping from being help up so long and their wrists chafed from the unforgiving metal. Edmund's stomach growled loudly and pitifully. Peter looked at his brother who smiled sheepishly but Peter couldn't bring himself to smile back. Anger, frustration, and helplessness all bubbled inside of him, making his gut twist even more.
'Aslan please help us. We need you.' Peter prayed silently. Edmund rubbed his boots together for the millionth time, assumable to keep circulations flowing through his legs and looking like he was trying to kick off his shoes. The younger Pevensie growled in frustration.
"What is it Ed?" Peter asked tiredly but no answer came because the door swung open and the Vizier entered with four soldiers.
"Well my young guests, you have overstayed your welcome but don't worry. We have a going away party that no one will ever forget. Since you enjoyed our games so much it has been decided that you shall participate in them." The color drained from the boys faces and they looked at each other in horror. Their skills with swords were legendary but they were both too weak to fight effectively not to mention fighting to the death was not a morally acceptable pastime for a Narnian, especially her kings.
"Now the only question is which one first?" The Vizier said, contemplatively. He eyed both boys, keeping them in suspense as he made a decision. He brought his hand up to his eye and said,
"The older one. Take him." Peter sighed in relief as the men came to unlock his chains. At least it wasn't Edmund.
"NO! Take me!" Edmund screamed in desperation. Peter glared at him with a look that clearly said, 'Shut up Ed'.
"It makes more sense! Start with the youngest and work your way to High King. Nothing like theatrics to make your country look good." Edmund said, desperation clear in his voice.
"Stop!" The Vizier commanded, right before Peter was unlocked. Peter's relief turned to a mixture of anger and fear.
"It makes no difference to me if you'd rather die first little king. Unlock him." The Vizier said haughtily. The guards unlocked Edmund and hauled him to his feet while Peter stared at them, momentarily speechless. The guards briefly let go of the dark haired king who fell to the ground due to weak legs from sitting so long.
"Don't worry Pete. Aslan will catch us." Edmund said as he stood. The comment was made with no inflection of sound but a slight flick of the wrist. Peter caught the coded message as well as the small object that his brother subtly threw at him and his fist closed to conceal it. Even through his sheer panic, Peter felt a surge of pride at his brother's quick thinking. The fall had been a decoy to reach into his boot and dislodge something he had been trying to retrieve for hours: a pick lock. After what happened with the Witch, Edmund had sworn to never be left that vulnerable again.
"That's what you think boy. Bring him." The Vizier said, quickly turning to leave with the guards following, dragging Edmund. Peter screamed after them, begging them to bring his brother back, threatening them, but nothing worked and Peter was left sitting along with tears streaming ceaselessly down his face.
"Don't weep little one. Act. Your brother gave you the means, use it."
"Aslan?" Peter whispered brokenly. A sense of warmth but urgency came over him and Peter knew what he needed to do. Turning, he worked at trying to twist his wrists and get the pick into the lock.
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Edmund was dragged down hall after hall until he finally reached what he assumed to be a preparation room. A huge gate was built into a wall which led into the arena. For the first time, fear's icy tendrils clutched Edmund and he had difficulty breathing. He was confident in his combat skills but he was weak, stiff, and half starved thus in no condition to fight. Mustering up the scattered courage he had he asked the guards,
"Where are my sword and armor? If I'm to fight I want to do it properly." The guards simply laughed and pointed to a stand that help a lone scimitar that Edmund was clearly meant to use. Sighing, Edmund went to pick up the sword, hoping to get a feel of it. It felt awkward and too long in his hand and he wasn't sure how to hold it properly. Clearly the Calormen's were going to ensure his demise. He even severely doubted if by some miracle he survived the battle with the champion he would be rewarded. They would most likely bring out another warrior until Edmund was defeated.
Suddenly a loud gong was heard and Edmund was pushed toward the gate. The champion, Rasheed was his name Edmund thought, had already entered the ring to the roaring applause of the audience. The gate in front Edmund opened and he was shoved through the opening. Edmund had forgotten how bright the sun was, though more than a day in a dungeon would do that to human eyes. Once the white spots had disappeared from Edmund's vision, he focused on his surroundings. It looked exactly the same since the first time he saw the barbaric games. It seemed years ago now.
Rasheed was already in the center of the arena, waiting like a wild animal for his next meal. The crowd booed and jeered at Edmund as he slowly made his way to Rasheed but he blocked them out. Instead he briefly focused on his surroundings, noting everything that could be useful when fighting. Next he focused solely on his opponent, sizing him up and remembering his fighting technique. However, the only conclusion he made was that he couldn't win this fight.
It was an odd feeling, walking to ones death. When he had fought the Witch, his only thought had been 'Save Peter, no matter what.' It had been an all consuming thought. Now he knew what death felt like and knew he was going back to it. He held his head high and promised himself he would act like a king befitting Narnia till the end. That, however, did not deaden the fear or dread he felt.
Suddenly images of his siblings floated through his mind. Susan and Lucy laughing, Peter playfully ruffling his hair, all four of them happy at Cair Paravel. Peace surged through Edmund. He would make this sacrifice, give Peter enough time to get free and escape. Pete would warn Narnia and protect the girls, and all would be well. Abruptly, Edmund found himself in front of Rasheed, who looked at him with dead eyes. Edmund inclined his head, a Narnian custom, and said,
"I will not kill you, Rasheed. I have no quarrel with you. I will fight you and try to disarm you but I won't kill an innocent." Rasheed simply stared at him. Another gong sounded and Rasheed blurred into action. He moved like lighting and it took all of Edmund's energy to block the shower of blows. Rasheed must not have thought Edmund a worthy opponent because he leapt onto the same rock he had before killing his last opponent, a sure sign he wanted to end the fight quickly.
Edmund, however, was ready for it. When Rasheed jumped down at him, Edmund brought his sword around in a wide sweep, effectively swatting the taller boy's blade away. Rasheed had not expected this and it caused his landing to be very off balance and he fell to his knees. The crowd was hushed, waiting for Edmund to deal the killing blow but the Narnian just stood there, waiting for his opponent to rise.
Rasheed rose and walked to Edmund slowly until he was standing in front of him again. The look in Rasheed's eyes was one of confusion, clearly not understanding what had happened. Edmund grasped at the chance that maybe he had won favor in the boys sight. Hopes were shattered the next instant as Rasheed expertly moved his blade in a swinging arc and slashed Edmund across the chest. The smaller boy gritted his teeth and stumbled backward, tripping over a rock and landing hard on his back, sword falling from his grip. Rasheed advanced on him slowly, blank unfeeling look still intact over his hard face.
To be continued…