Chapter 5

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Disclaimer: No. I don't own Narnia.

She stood over him, surrounded by her minions, left hand hanging by her side, right hand clenching the wand. Her dark eyes glowered down at him, and for a moment, his breath seemed to leave his body. He couldn't remember whatever had possessed him to follow her, to turn against his siblings for her.

It was night time, a night dark as pitch, the only light coming from her, radiating off her. It was not a comforting light, but a blinding white light that made Edmund cringe and curl in further on himself.

"Foolish boy," she hissed, her voice sounding like the hissing of a snake and without the cold anger he was used to. "Did you think you were safe from me? Did you honestly think you would ever be free of me after what you did?"

His body was covered in bruises and cuts, but it wasn't the wounds that hurt him. It was the accusation in her voice, the reminder of what he was.

"Little traitor," she smirked at him, running her fingers along the wand in ecstasy, getting ready to use it on him without remorse.

"No," Edmund whispered stubbornly. "No." his voice came out squeaky and small and he hated himself for it. In the back of his mind, an even smaller voice tried to reassure him. Aslan took care of this. He died for you, but he came back to life. Peter and Susan and Lucy forgave you. Narnia forgave you. They've all forgotten. You know this.

"What was that?" the Witch taunted.

"Not...a traitor any more." It was difficult to get the words out. He ground his teeth, remembering who had last been on the stone table. "Aslan..."

"Don't you remember, boy? Aslan died on this table, just as you shall. And I killed him, just as I shall kill you."

Edmund's heart sank at her words. Still, something in the back of his mind told him she was lying, because she always lied. "No..." his voice was pleading. "Not true..."

"All traitors belong to me. Their blood is my property. Isn't that right, little king?"

And suddenly Peter stood beside her, eyes hard but determined. "True. Why can't you just do as your told, Edmund? None of this would have happened if you'd just listened to me."

"Peter..." Edmund groaned as something sharp pierced his side. "I'm sorry!"

"That's High King to you," Peter stated imperiously, and then stepped back.

Edmund turned wide eyes on the Witch as she lifted the wand. The world seemed to crackle and shimmer before him as she slowly brought the wand down on his unprotected chest. The creatures around began to jeer at him, and he wanted to cover his ears, but his hands were bound.

He looked back at the Witch who any moment now would take his life, but now she was Lucy, dressed in a long brown robe and frowning at him. He couldn't bear that. He could stand the anger, the cold death, but he couldn't bear to see Lucy looking at him like that. She'd forgiven him. She'd promised she had!

"Lucy," he begged, "please. I'm sorry I didn't believe you." Surely she wouldn't kill him. She was Lucy the Valiant, and she would never want to hurt him. "Please."

"It's what you deserve," she said softly, eying him with disappointment. He closed his eyes as the dagger pierced his side, and then Edmund woke up, gasping for breath. Lucy and the Witch and all the creatures had disappeared, but Peter was still there beside him, trying to calm him down, speaking softly with a hint of worry flashing in his eyes. Edmund froze, watching the older boy until he remembered that it had only been a dream.

It wasn't his usual dream. He always had the same dream, every night, and this wasn't it. What did that mean? He couldn't remember if the one he'd just had was better or worse than the usual. He began shaking and found he couldn't stop, but it wasn't from the nightmare. He was freezing. Why hadn't Peter lit the-

The fire was so high Edmund was afraid it would reach the bed and start burning the blankets. The window was shut now. There was a candle on the nightstand. It was midsummer. So why was he still so cold?

The pain in his stomach hit him suddenly, and he cringed. He felt a little dizzy at the effort it had taken to sit up, and remembered what happened earlier. The tree spirits and Lucy had been worried about him, though he couldn't imagine why. And then it had gotten so cold he could hardly think, and his hands were turning blue... It wasn't so cold anymore, but what scared him was that no one else seemed to feel it.

Peter had awoken in complete darkness, sweating and exhausted. At first he couldn't figure out what woke him, but then Edmund started thrashing again, and Peter sighed. Another nightmare.

He'd told the girls he would stay with Edmund tonight to keep an eye on him. It was somewhere around midnight, judging by the stars peeking in through the open window, and already he had fallen asleep. The girls had only left about an hour ago.

Edmund suddenly called out in his sleep, and Peter realized he could make out the words. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean for all this...please..."

Peter gritted his teeth in anger. All these years, all the nightmares, all the times he'd woken Ed up and told him that she was dead, that she'd never be able to hurt him again-it had all been a lie. Either that or...well, he didn't want to think what strange conjuring had brought her back into their lives.

He'd rather not think on that, either. He had seen it happen, watched during the battle of Beruna as Aslan faced the witch, had watched with wide eyes and wished he could do it himself but knew that only Aslan had the right.

But if Aslan had killed her, how was she still alive?

He forced down the doubt and turned back to his brother. "Ed," he shook the Just King's shoulders, eliciting a moan as he tried to wake the younger boy. "Edmund," when the boy didn't wake up immediately.

Edmund groaned and Peter shook him harder. "Ed!" he all but shouted. "It's all right! Wake up!"

Edmund jerked awake, eyes wide and filled with raw fear. His body tensed, but he relaxed when he saw that it was only Peter. His hands were shaking and he hid them under the blankets so that Peter couldn't see. He was breathing heavily, watching Peter liked he was about to turn into a rabid dog.

"It wasn't real," Peter promised, the only words he could think of. "It was only a dream."

Edmund laid his head back against the pillows and closed his eyes, but Peter could tell he was still awake.

They sat there in silence for a moment, and then Edmund whispered, "Peter."

"I'm here. You're all right."

"You know what day it is," he said mournfully, as if it hurt him physically to remember.

Peter sighed, glancing at the window. It wasn't quite day yet, but that didn't matter. Edmund wouldn't be going back to sleep any time soon. "Yes, Ed, I know."

It was five years to the day since Ed had left the Beaver's house, had chosen the Witch over his siblings. This was always the worst day. The day Edmund had become a traitor, and he would never let himself forget it.

"You didn't give me your usual speech about how she's dead and will never hurt me again," Edmund muttered, sitting up in bed and pushing off the covers as he decided that sleep was useless. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her, eyes glinting, dagger raised above her head, and then she brought it down, down on Edmund this time, not Aslan.

"I didn't really see the point," Peter replied, feeling guilt creep in on him. He promised himself that the Witch would never come near his siblings again.

"No, I suppose not." his voice was soft, so young for his age.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Peter asked.

Edmund took a deep breath. "No." Then, "It was worse than the usual dream. Different." He clamped up then, but Peter didn't press him to continue. "Peter?"

"What is it?"

"You can go to bed now. I'll be fine," Edmund insisted, seeing the circles under his brother's eyes and cringing when he knew they were his fault. He was embarrassed that Peter had felt the need to stay here with him, like he was a child.

"Don't be silly. I'm staying right here," Peter patted his arm. Then his eyes widened. "Oh, Edmund! I was supposed to make you drink this when you woke up." He grabbed the glass of murky liquid on the nightstand and handed it over.

Edmund picked it up with shaky hands. "What is it?" he demanded suspiciously. He swirled it around the darker liquid seemed to fall to the bottom.

Peter furrowed his brow and then shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure. The tree spirits said you need to drink it. It'll help."

Edmund stared at the contents for a moment, and then lifted it to his lips. His nose wrinkled, and his stomach rebelled as the taste hit his tongue and he pulled it away. "It's disgusting!"

Peter grinned. "Well, now we know you're feeling better."

ǁ

Jadis leaned her back, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. She was not normally sentimental, as she found it a weakness, but the sight of her castle after so long of being separated from the comforting bleak fortress caused her to smile.

It was true, the old castle looked terribly rundown from here, and without the world covered in ice it seemed so plain, and the yellow meadow about it made it seem like an old relic, but the familiar sight of spires jutting into the sky and those iron gates to welcome her were enough. She could see that the courtyard was empty, but she had already known this. She would soon have it all restored. Soon, the Witch's castle would be just as threatening and magnificent as ever, and Cair Paravel would be nothing but an old relic. And she would sit in her rightful place as Queen.

Her new general, an old but wise centaur, who, despite his brothers and sisters all working for the Kings and Queens, had defected and joined her, stood beside her, staring at the castle. His loyalty had been tested because of his heritage, and the Witch had ensured he would never turn against her. His ability to see into the future would be helpful.

A small army was behind them, all the creatures that the wolf had been able to find, most of whom had gone North to the land of the giants, pawing and panting but otherwise staying silent, as the Witch had commanded. She did not want to cause trouble before the right time.

Night had fallen over Narnia before the Queen had decided that it was time to leave the caves and meet up with her followers, some old and some new, but all holding equal hatred towards the Kings and Queens of Narnia. The moon was hidden behind a cloud tonight, and for that reason, the White Witch knew it was time to go. They would not be seen traveling under cloudy darkness.

The White Witch kept her eyes closed, arms out to the sides as if she could embrace her entire castle. "Take it in, General," she said with a cold smile. "Home."

The general stared at the castle. "Will it hold everyone?"

The Witch's eyes snapped open, and she returned to her cool, normal self. "Do you doubt it?" He shook his head. "I thought not. Besides, it will not need to hold them for long. We have work to do."

She smiled. Soon enough, she would have Narnia once again, and those foolish children who had tried to usurp her would pay for what they had done. She wondered if they had liked her gift, the little stone boy. Edmund, at least, would appreciate it. Oh, she had such plans for Edmund. He would pay for what he had done. This time, she would make sure it was he who paid.

Aslan was not here to save him this time.

ǁ

Peter ran a hand through his blond locks in frustration. "No one's heard anything," he stated dumbly, for the second time in five minutes.

The eagle who had come to report furrowed the feathers on his back and frowned. "No, my liege. My sons and I have scoured the countryside, and found not one sign of the White Witch or her people. We have gone to everyone who might know."

Peter sighed, glancing at Edmund sitting across the table from him. The younger king had insisted that the drink had worked and that he was feeling better, though Peter had caught him flinching and shivering more than once since coming down to breakfast and the drink was only supposed to help with his nausea. He glanced worriedly at Susan, but she was staring at the eagle intently, purposely not meeting his eyes.

"How do we know what the hag says is true?" Lucy asked finally. "She could have made it up to scare us. This could be only a threat from the remainders of the Witch's people. Somehow they could have all-"

"Most of the Witch's people repented of their deeds and joined us, and the rest would be too cowardly to attempt something like this on their own," Edmund spoke up for the first time that morning, twirling around the pudding in front of him with his spoon nervously. He was embarrassed about what had happened last night. His guilty conscience hadn't plagued him so horribly since their coronation, nearly five years ago.

Did the others not notice how chilly it was in here? Lucy wasn't even wearing sleeves, for Aslan's sake!

He glanced at Peter, but Peter had turned back to the eagle with determination on his features. "Keep looking. None of the Witch's followers is capable of doing something like this. I need a sign...just anything."

"Sire, perhaps we should go to one of the centaurs of the Western Wood," the eagle suggested. "There are seers among them that might be able to help us."

"Then send one of your sons to do so, please," Susan said authoritatively when Peter didn't answer right away.

"Yes, my Queen." The eagle bowed and departed, climbing up to the window over looking the sea and spreading its brown wings. It flew silently, disappearing into the horizon and the rising sun.

Edmund stood up once the eagle was gone. As one, his brother and sisters seemed to explode with worry.

"Edmund, are you tired? We ought to get someone to make sure you get back to your room safely," Susan began, but Edmund brushed away her fears.

"I'm fine. I'm just...full." He started towards a door that didn't lead back to his chambers. Susan kindly did not point out that he'd hardly eaten.

"Where are you going?" Lucy asked, standing also and preparing to go after him. She had not forgotten how difficult it was to drag him to his bed.

Edmund rolled his eyes. When he was younger, he might have yearned for their concern, but it did get a bit annoying when he was sick and they all doted on him like he was a babe. It wasn't as if he were dying. It was just a summer fever.

"I'm going to see Phillip in the stables," Edmund turned around to face them. "I think I'll make it there, Lucy. I haven't seen him since...he'll be worried about me." He turned imploring eyes on Peter. "I'm feeling better. And we have more important things to do than worry about a little fever, I think."

Peter and Susan exchanged glances. "All right, Ed, you can go, but don't you dare go out riding," Peter ordered. "We don't want you over-exerting yourself or getting into any...unnecessary danger."

Edmund grinned. "Don't worry; Phillip won't let me do anything even when I've got a cold." He turned and walked out the door, leaving his siblings to finish their breakfast.

He made it down the hallway before his vision started swimming in front of him. Wincing, he laid a hand against the wall and clutched at his stomach as a stinging pain ran through him. There was no nausea this time, but he felt as though he'd been run through by a...sword.

He stumbled forward again, determined not to let some little fever turn into more than it was because he was afraid of the White Witch's return. He made it down a flight of stairs and then hesitated at the bottom as another wave of dizziness rushed through him.

Falling to his knees, Edmund rocked back and forth on his haunches, finding it difficult to breathe. "Come on, don't be such a baby!" he snapped at himself, forcing his feet back under him and started forward again.

His head was buzzing and everything seemed off; tilted to the side as he slowly walked forward, down another long, dark hallway. There were no windows, only a small torch at the beginning and end of the hall.

For a moment he was confused. Why was he here? This wasn't the stables. Then he remembered that he was going...to see...Phillip, yes, that was it. But it was so cold...

It was a wonder he made it to the end of the hallway without collapsing, but it was only after he reached the guards- a hound and a black bear-that he realized this wasn't the stables. Faltering for a moment, Edmund glanced around, trying to figure out where he was. He'd explored Cair Paravel a thousand times, and that task shouldn't be so hard.

"King Edmund," the hound spoke up, wagging its tail at the sight of him. "What brings you to the dungeons, my liege?"

Edmund blinked stupidly. The dungeons. That was where he was. He opened his mouth and his words came out wooden. "I want to interrogate the agent of the Witch, the hag."

The hound whimpered and the bear spoke up. "High King Peter has already interrogated the hag. He has commanded that no one else be allowed to see it."

Edmund swallowed, realizing what he was down here for. Suddenly his head didn't seem to be buzzing so hard, and his stomach hurt a little less. Phillip could wait. "I...I am your King and I need to see the hag. High King Peter will understand."

The hound and the bear hesitated for only a moment. Neither of them could honestly remember a time when the High King and the King had clashed over something, and neither were really sure what to do. But then they looked up at the resolute face of the young king, cold with anger, and made their decision. The High King wasn't here, and King Edmund was. Perhaps he and his brother would work it out.

"This way, my lord," the hound huffed, stepping forward into the dungeons far beneath Cair Paravel. Edmund followed in silence until they reached the hag's cell, which appeared empty in the waning light. The hound shot Edmund an apologetic glance and barked into the cell, "You have a visitor."

The hag's ugly, birdlike face was suddenly pressed up against the bars. "King Edmund," she said, cocking her head at him as the hound slowly turned back. "I was wondering when you were going to come. It's been so...unpleasant down here. I could use a bit of company."

Cliffhanger!