Chapter 7
Whew! This is my longest chapter yet!
Peter and Susan had searched Cair in its entirety, but Edmund was simply nowhere to be found. No one had seen him since breakfast, he hadn't been seen leaving the castle, and he wasn't in his room. He had simply vanished.
Peter widened the search, sending the eagles out across Narnia to find the young king.
A day went past, then two. Still, there was no sign of Edmund from the eagles.
Peter sighed. He could not lose his little brother, not now.
Oreius told the three remaining monarchs that something needed to be done. They could not leave the Narnians lost and confused for much longer. The High King needed to let the people know that he had things under control.
It was Tumnus who suggested giving a speech.
He stepped up onto the podium that had been erected in front of Cair Paravel. More than one hundred Narnians had gathered in the street below, hearing that the High King would be giving a speech this morning. They had come from far and wide, searching for something Peter could not give them. Hope.
Peter glanced at Susan and Lucy, standing a little off to the side, between Tumnus and the beavers. Lucy gave him an encouraging smile.
Peter sighed again, turning back to the Narnian creatures. "King Edmund is...missing," he choked out, sounding less like a king than he should have. There was a collective gasp, and Peter forced himself to continue. "We will do our best to bring home the Just King, but everyone is asked to keep a wary eye out. There has been no word from the Witch, no hint at what she is planning. If she was responsible for thie evil act, rest assured she will not prevail. I suggest that you all remain on your guard. Any who feel that their homes do not offer suitable protection is invited to stay at Cair." He hesitated, unable to bear the expectant eyes searching him for some sign of victory. "The Witch cannot win this fight. She has already been defeated once before. We must trust in Aslan."
He was made painfully aware of how hollow the words sounded by the silence of the crowd.
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The eagles had turned up nothing on the whereabouts of the young king, and, by the third day, Peter was sick of waiting around, doing nothing.
Despite Oreius' warnings, he went out to look for his younger brother himself on the third day, taking with him a small army to serve as a search party. Oreius felt that this was leaving Cair vulnerable, and the castle would be prey to the Witch, but Peter wouldn't heed him.
He could not sit by, writing speeches and enlisting soldiers while he knew that his little brother was out there somewhere, alone and cold. Edmund would not have simply left on his own with no explanation. Something had happened to him, and Peter had the strongest suspicion that the Witch was the cause of it.
After all, it was rather convenient that neither Edmund or the Witch could be found anywhere.
Peter was out from dawn until dusk every day for the next three days, searching for the Just King every second, plowing through Narnia, desperate for some sign. Three more search parties joined him, all in different directions. It was no secret that Peter was frantic to find Edmund, and the Narnians were getting scared.
As much as they loved their Just King, the fear of the Witch and what she could do to Narnia took precedence.
The High King brought his army up to the North, as close to the giants as they dared go, then to the border of Archenland. They searched the forests, rivers, and ravines, but there was no sign of King Edmund.
Susan and Lucy wanted to help in the search, but Peter managed to convince them it would be better if there was always a monarch at Cair, in case there was an attack. He didn't want to have to worry about their disappearing, as well.
Susan almost ignored him and went out on her own to find her brother, but the pained look in Peter's eyes, and the slight growl of warning from Oreius, forced her to stay at Cair. She was obviously not pleased, however. Her arrows hit the target every time, and she didn't remind Peter of a Gentle Queen anymore as she ruthlessly trained the recruits, and even enlisted Oreius' help in doing so.
A reward was offered for anyone with information on the young king. Each day, it steadily grew, but there was no word. No one had heard or seen him, just as no one had heard or seen the White Witch.
Each day, King Peter came home from the searches, exhausted in body and soul. Lucy tried to stay strong, tried to convince her older siblings that Edmund would be all right, that they had only to trust in Aslan.
Six days past, and the castle was so cold at night that now even the creatures living in it, covered in fur, were beginning to feel affected. Peter had to sleep with furs piled on top of him and a fire raging just to stay warm.
Even as it was, he hardly slept. His dreams were haunted by nightmares, similar to Edmund's for the past five years, of the Witch doing unspeakable things to his little brother while he slept in the lap of luxury. After only a few hours' sleep, Peter woke early in the morning, before his sisters, grabbed a light breakfast, and disappeared into the deepest parts of Narnia, looking for some sign. Any sign.
Six days, seven.
The Narnians would not give up on their Just King. Every morning, dozens of them showed up at Cair, offering gifts to the Queens and wishing to help join the search. While Peter appreciated their efforts, he allowed Susan and Lucy to deal with them.
Eight days had passed, and Peter couldn't shake the feeling that if they ever found Edmund, it would be too late.
He hurried to go out searching again, knowing in his heart that he would find nothing.
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Sometime after the tenth day since Edmund's disappearance, he found himself in Edmund's room, sitting on the cold bed, silently observing everything in the room. He couldn't hold back the grief in his heart now that he was here, alone. He had meant to go to the stables and see Philip, but somehow he had ended up here.
Edmund's room was cold and undeniably empty, devoid of life. Everything was just as Edmund had left it, messy and dusty.
Edmund's sword was hanging on the wall, and Peter cursed his own stupidity for the umpteenth time for letting Edmund leave his bed that fateful day. He'd known his brother was not feeling well, that he was obviously sick and shouldn't be out of bed very long, but he'd given in anyway, stupidly ignoring the obvious.
Of course Edmund hadn't been feeling well enough to walk to the stables by himself. He wasn't even wearing his sword.
Peter should have gone with him, should have made sure he got there all right. His little brother had been ill, and this was all his fault...
Lucy entered the room sometime later, sitting down beside Peter and wrapping her arms around his stomach, burying her face in his chest. Neither sibling said a word for what felt like hours, until Susan came in and burrowed under the covers on Peter's other side, and started to hum.
It was one of Edmund's favorite songs, usually sung during Christmas. One of the only things about Christmas that he seemed to enjoy, too terrified by the snow to find much happiness during the season.
Peter wondered how long it would be before the frigid weather, obviously brought on by the Witch, began to snow. Where would Edmund be when it started snowing in the middle of summer?
Peter had no idea how long they sat there, until Susan stopped humming and Lucy whispered into the silence, "We'll get him back."
Peter wished he shared his sister's optimism.
The door opened then, and Fox rushed in. He paused when he caught sight of the three monarchs, hesitating. After a long while, he finally exclaimed, "Your Majesties, I was looking for you. Oreius wishes to let you know he is leaving, on another search to find King Edmund."
Peter jumped up. "Tell him to wait," he said, checking to make sure he was still wearing his sword.
The Fox shook his head. "My King, I think it would be best if you did not go on this one. You have been wearing yourself thin on these searches. Rest today."
"Peter, he has a point," Susan said softly, studying her brother. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was an unhealthy pale. His hands were also beginning to shake, at a very frightening pace.
Peter sighed. "Very well." That worried Susan. Peter would never have agreed unless he thought he really was too exhausted to be of help, and if that were the case, he was worse off than Susan had realized. She and Lucy exchanged agonized glances.
The Fox nodded, turning to go. Then, he seemed to hesitate. "Your Majesties, I think it is safe to assume now that the White Witch was responsible for King Edmund's disappearance. If that is the case-"
Susan swallowed, pulling away from her siblings. "We need to send to Archenland for help." She ignored Peter's soft arguments. "If the Witch destroys us, she will go after Archenland next," she interrupted him, and Peter nodded, hanging his head. "And find some spies who can actually tell us something useful. And get more recruits. The Witch will be coming soon, if she has Edmund. We had best be prepared." It was the most impolite Lucy could ever remember her older sister being around anyone but Peter.
The Fox sighed. "Yes, Your Majesty," he wilted, turning and leaving the room.
Lucy slowly stood. "Well then, I guess I'd better get back to the healers," she said, hugging her siblings one last time before hurrying out of the room.
"Edmund would want you to stay strong, for him," Susan counseled as she also stood, pacing a hole into Edmund's carpet in front of his bed. She glanced out the window every few minutes, as if she were expecting Edmund to ride up the main road any minute.
"He's not dead yet," Peter muttered under his breath.
"What?" Susan asked, glancing up in surprise.
"If our roles were reversed and he were here instead of me, he would stay strong and come up with a perfect plan to fix everything!" Peter yelled, not knowing where all his anger was coming from but rather enjoying the look of shock on Susan's face.
"We're all doing the best we can," Susan snapped coolly. "I'm only saying you need to rest or you're not going to be of any help to Edmund or the rest of Narnia when they-when we-need you."
Peter ground his teeth. The tension in the room made him wince. "Sorry," he finally whispered.
"We'll find him, Peter," Susan whispered, kneeling down in front of him and leaning against the bed. His Gentle sister reached out and squeezed his hand reassuringly. She was trying to stay strong for Narnia, but Peter could see the fear behind her eyes, the doubt there. He could see the worry lines that were beginning to form around her red lips and eyes.
She finally stood up again, smoothing out her dress and starting toward the door.
"What if she finds him first, Su?" Peter demanded at her back, too harshly, knowing she already had, but not wanting to admit it.
Susan shook her head, turning around slowly to face him. "Then we'll just have to trust in Aslan," she said solemnly, before turning to walk away once more.
Peter shook his head, slightly disgusted with himself as he spat out the words, but unable to hold them back anymore. "Do you really believe that?"
Susan paused, halfway down the hall already. He couldn't see her, but he heard her boots grind to a halt, could hear her even breathing. Finally, "Lucy does," echoed into the silence.
"I wasn't asking about Lucy," Peter shouted after her, but Susan was gone by then.
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Susan had gone back to training the recruits. Peter was giving speeches now, feeling like a hypocrite as he smiled and waved at the crowd, promised them the Witch could be destroyed.
Lucy and the healers had prepared a room for Edmund when he returned. Peter couldn't understand his youngest sister's optimism.
Lucy came into the throne room where Peter had been wasting about for half the day, after giving another speech, doing nothing but worrying about where Edmund might have gone, and hugged him sometime around noon. Peter clung to her tightly, wishing he hadn't agreed to stay behind to rest rather than searching for Edmund. He couldn't sleep, anyway, so what was the use of sitting around?
"I hate this, doing nothing," Peter muttered darkly.
"We'll find him, Pete," she whispered into his ear, softly. "We just have to trust in Aslan. He knows what he's doing."
Peter's shoulders stiffened at the mention of the lion who had, thus far, not come to help them yet. Where was Aslan? Why had he left them to such a fate? Peter couldn't defeat the Witch on his own; he knew that. Surely Aslan did, too.
Peter glanced down at his sweet little sister as she pulled away, concern gracing her amiable features, but otherwise remaining strong for her brother. Peter was once again reminded of how well she deserved her title, Lucy the Valiant, and how little he deserved his own.
"I'm going with the healer today, Pete, to help find anyone who may have been found by the Witch and harmed by her. I'll be gone until nightfall." She noticed his incredulous look. "I'll be perfectly safe. There will be guards with me the whole time."
A sudden fear hit him, and he crossed his arms. Lucy was so little, and she would be going out with a group of healers, none of them skilled in warfare. He couldn't lose her, too.
"Maybe you should stay here today, Lu," he suggested casually, painfully aware of how weak his voice sounded, even to his own ears. "The healers don't really need that many people to help. No one has actually reported any problems with the Witch."
Lucy hid a smile behind her smooth white hand. "I'll be fine, Peter."
Peter shook his head stubbornly. "I don't think you should go, Lucy," he tried again.
His little sister could be equally stubborn when it suited her. "I need to go. I need to feel like I'm doing something to help. Besides, I'm taking a troop of mice with me, so I'll be well protected."
Her oldest brother sighed, not at all impressed with her guard. "Maybe I should send one of Oreius' sons with you, as well."
Lucy rolled her eyes. She opened her mouth, about to make a smart retort, when Peter interrupted her.
"Lu! This is serious!" Peter snapped. "Edmund disappeared without any sign of what may have happened to him, and I'm not going to risk the same thing happening to you!"
Lucy swallowed. Peter never shouted at her. Susan, yes, Edmund, constantly, yet not as much as before Narnia, but never Lucy. She knew he was just nervous and stressed, but Lucy couldn't help the flash of hurt that swept across her features.
Peter calmed, feeling guilty for shouting at her. "All right. But be careful, and take your dagger with you. And if anyone-"
She was already gone, the door to the throne room slamming shut behind her, leaving Peter in silence.
He sat there for a few minutes, head in his hands, rubbing his temples furiously.
He couldn't stand this; his hands were shaking and he jumped every time someone entered the room, knowing they were coming to tell him his brother's body had been found, an ice splinter in his chest.
He couldn't lose Edmund again, not like this. Not to the Witch who had stolen him before, for that was undoubtedly what had happened again. And if anything happened to his little brother, she would pay for it this time.
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Edmund swallowed thickly, his stomach rumbling with hunger. It seemed impossible to be hungry in this place, and his face burned with anger. Especially when his own selfish hunger had brought him here the first time, but Edmund found himself drooling over memories of past Christmas feasts at Cair.
He knew it wasn't Christmastime, that it was the middle of summer, but from his perspective just then, it certainly felt like winter. It was too cold to be a golden summer of Narnia.
Thick ice ran up and down the walls, completely covering them to the point that he could not even see the metal he knew ran beneath. The windows had disappeared under a thin layer of the stuff, not enough to inhibit his view of the outside world, but enough that he knew no one could hear him outside.
The Witch, after her initial greeting, seemed to want nothing to do with him, and he found that rather disturbing. After all these years, of imagining the horrors that she contrived long through the entirely too long nights, she wasn't even interested in him.
The White Witch had sat back down in her throne, looking as though she never left it, and sent for a centaur who looked disturbingly familiar. He picked Edmund up-none too gently-and brought him here, muttering in disgust about having to be so near to the "little traitor" the entire time.
Then Edmund was left alone, chained in the very spot he had been kept five years ago, Mr. Tumnus' cell across from him, sitting on the cold floor. But this time, the Witch had left him with nothing to eat, and it had been days since then.
He didn't know how long she had kept him down here. Edmund supposed he could have kept track of how many days had passed through the window above his head, but that first night he had been too ill to think of it, and now he didn't really see the point. He still felt ill, actually, and, even though it was freezing, he was hot with fever one moment and feeling the effects of the cold the next. What was worse, the wound that shouldn't have hurt his stomach was acting up again, and now, it was much worse.
"Blast!" Edmund muttered, glancing down at the wound.
The thin scar that appeared during the Court session, when it shouldn't have been there in the first place, was now a much larger, thicker wound in his stomach, almost as if the nearness of the Witch was causing it to return to its state before the effects of the cordial.
At least there was no blood, and the pain was only a dull throbbing. For now.
Edmund shivered, curling in on himself for some semblance of warmth and rubbing his manacled hands against his chest in an effort to warm up.
The Witch had left him down here to freeze to death, he was sure of it.
The one small comfort he had while languishing away in this dungeon was that this time, he wasn't here because he had betrayed his siblings. This time, Peter wasn't angry with him, and he didn't have to worry about them never coming to find him because they hated him so much.
Peter would come. He was sure of it. It wouldn't be much longer.
Edmund tried to stay awake that night, too, as he had done since he arrived here, he really did. He was far too terrified of having a nightmare about the Witch, and then waking up to find that it was real, that he really was back in her dungeons, and that everything that happened his dreams could very well happen easily now. He couldn't fall asleep. He couldn't bear that.
Peter wasn't here to help him, to calm him down when he awoke screaming. No, he couldn't fall asleep.
But Edmund's eyes soon began to droop, and it was a struggle to just keep his head from falling back down on his chest. His mind wasn't functioning properly; he was beginning to see things, and his head was pounding from lack of proper rest.
Edmund fell asleep. Within a few moments, he was twitching in his sleep, flailing about despite the strong chains as another dream plagued him.
But the nightmares had not even begun.
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Peter was freezing once more. He'd noticed it ever since re-entering the castle, and couldn't help wishing he had remembered to bring his fur coat back in with him. He could call for one of the servants to bring him another, but it felt selfish somehow, when it never had before.
He was still at Cair, sitting in his throne room, having skipped supper. Oreius had not yet returned from his search, and the lengthy mission was allowing Peter to hope. Perhaps he was taking so long because he had found Edmund, and...Peter slammed his fists against the armrests of the throne.
He was going to go insane, sitting here waiting for some news, unable to go out and help rescue his little brother. He still couldn't believe he had agreed to stay home and rest.
"When was the last time you slept, Pete?" Susan asked, leaning forward and checking the temperature on his forehead with the back of her hand.
Peter shook his head. "I haven't been sleeping well lately."
Susan frowned, instantly concerned. "Go and get some rest, Peter, please. You're no use to Edmund half-awake. You can go tomorrow. If Oreius hasn't found him by now." The last sentence was an after thought, as if she really didn't believe that possible.
That had been when he tried to leave the castle by himself to look for Edmund, and Susan had cornered him on the way out.
Edmund was probably freezing somewhere, chained to a wall without a coat, going through untold tortures administered by the Witch before she killed him.
But why did she want Edmund? Aslan had already died in his place, breaking the Stone Table and ridding it of its power forever. She could no longer claim his blood, and the Witch was not the sort of person to do things for the sole purpose of revenge, Peter felt, but then again, maybe she was. That left only one other option; ransom. She could be holding Edmund and use him to force the Kings and Queens to abdicate their throne, but somehow Peter doubted that possibility, as well.
The Witch would want a fight, a final showdown to prove that Narnia was hers, and she would not stop until the prophecy was...
The prophecy. Only when the four siblings sat on the thrones of Cair could the Witch's power be thwarted. Peter had never had a reason to look into the prophecy any more than that before, but now he was worried. If the Witch killed Edmund, would she automatically gain back all of Narnia forever?
Peter shuddered at the thought, his mind once again rebelling. Why would Aslan allow any of this? Why wasn't he here? What was so important that he would abandon them to-
No, he refused to think like that.
Oreius was gone to the North, to recruit any able bodied Narnians into the army. The Narnian army was large, but certainly not large enough for Peter's comfort. He wouldn't be back for a while, so the High King could find no help from him.
High King? A little voice whispered in the back of his head. You haven't acted like a High King since the day of your coronation.
Peter sighed, leaning back in his golden throne. He had spent the majority of his day here, ever since Susan had told him he couldn't go out and do something stupid, like find Edmund himself.
They were afraid the White Witch would capture him as well, he knew. If she had both Kings of Narnia, Narnia would fall. The girls couldn't face her on their own, he reminded himself.
He was alone. Aslan was not here to help him.
Peter shook himself angrily. None of this was helping Edmund. He wasn't alone; Edmund was alone somewhere, stolen from his family, probably terrified, and freezing from that strange illness, or curse, or whatever it was. Edmund needed him, and he couldn't just sit here and do nothing hoping for Aslan!
Springing out of his throne, Peter paced the floor, running a nervous hand through his blond locks as he walked.
The door suddenly opened and one of the bears, a gentle, usually shy creature who attended Peter, pranced into the room, bowing before the High King.
Peter sighed and turned to the bear, careful not to let his anger and fear show on his face. Bears were gentle creatures; the emotions would have confused the poor animal. Belatedly, he realized that he had unsheathed his sword, and slowly replaced it.
"What is it?" he asked, trying not to sound too impatient, but that was growing very thin. Imminent war, the return of a dead sorceress, Edmund's disappearance...
...Flew from his mind the moment the Bear spoke.
"My lord, I went down to the dungeons to relieve the hound on guard, and..." the bear's eyes welled up with tears, and he stuck a paw in his mouth, as if unable to speak.
Dread filled the High King and he stopped pacing to face the bear head on. "What happened?"
The bear shook slightly as it spoke again. "They were dead, Your Majesty. The hound and the black bear, my cousin. Their throats...had been cut open with a blade. I went further into the dungeons to see if the hag was still there and-,"
The blood drained from Peter's face in horror. "Has she escaped?"
The bear shook his great head. "No, Your Majesty, the hag was still there, but she was singing a strange song, and I suddenly felt so cold-,"
The blood started rushing through him once more, and a stray thought that hadn't occurred to him before, an idea of what may have happened to Edmund, hit him suddenly, like a blow to the chest.
Peter did not wait for the poor bear to finish his story. Another draft of icy cold air hit him and he shivered, pulling out Rhindon once more.
Furious with himself that he had not thought of this already, Peter rushed out of the throne room, ignoring the concerned looks of the badgers guarding the door and the way the bear called after him, and ran down the stairs until he reached the dungeon level.
Peter pushed open the door to the dungeons and rushed inside, sword already out of its scabbard, clenched tightly in his hand.
What he found there stopped him in his tracks. Blood, spilled across the stone floor, staining the once black ground a thick crimson. The hound was still lying on its side, a look of pain in its wide, dull eyes as they stared up sightlessly at Peter. The hound's throat had been slit, the bloody work done with a knife or a claw, looking like a grin on the creature's white and brown neck. The black bear lay beside it, a mess of fur and blood, eyes clenched shut. Both were dead.
Gritting his teeth, Peter stepped over the guards' bodies and further into the dungeons. He felt guilty about just leaving their bodies there, but something far more important plagued him, and would until he discovered the truth.
The hag was the only prisoner in the dungeons. Edmund did not like prisons, ever since his encounter with the Witch's dungeons, and hated the thought of condemning a fellow creature, even a guilty one, to such a fate. Since he was the one who usually doled out sentences, he would find much kinder forms of punishments, such as working in the dwarves' mines or exile to Archenland.
Peter thought he was being too kindhearted, but almost always indulged him in that one way.
Edmund had made no such plea on behalf of the hag, or perhaps he had simply been too sick to notice what had happened to her.
Peter sighed. He should have never let his younger brother out of his sight. He'd known the boy was too sick to be up and about, but like a fool, he had given in.
"Ah, so you're back then," the hag commented, the sound of claws scraping against the metal bars of her cage yanking Peter back to the present.
It was dark in the prison, only a simple torch hanging from the wall behind Peter. It cast eerie shadows across the hag's face. It was freezing down here, much colder, even, than upstairs.
Peter glared at her. "What have you done to my brother?" he demanded angrily. Rhindon was barely an inch from her throat.
The hag pretended to look offended, cocking her head at him, green hair, no longer slicked back, falling about her ears at awkward angles. "Whatever do you mean, my King?" she demanded mockingly. "I haven't touched a single hair on King Edmund's head. I believe you have enough accusations to kill me now without adding any more."
Peter ground his teeth together. It was taking all of his self-control not to lunge forward and attack the creature. He couldn't kill her yet. That would ruin his only chance of finding out what had happened to Edmund.
"Nevertheless, you did something," he accused, staring down his sword at her. "He was acting strangely ever since you were brought to the castle, in pain and cold, too cold. He fainted the first time he saw you."
The hag cackled. "Yes, well, I do seem to have that affect on some people," she said, rubbing her claws together and making Peter cringe at the sound.
"He's gone now, hag. What do you know of it?" Peter inched closer to the cage, and now Rhindon was touching her leathery skin through the bars. The hag gulped.
"Nothing that I can think of off the top of my head, Your Majesty," she said with an evil grin. "Perhaps, though, if you were to provide some incentive like your kind brother did when he came down to visit me, I may be more inclined to remember."
Peter gasped. "Edmund came down here? When was that?"
The hag raised an eyebrow at him, waiting.
Peter sighed. "If you tell me what I want to know, then I will..." he paused, unable to say the words but knowing it was the only thing that would convince the wicked creature in front of him to talk, "I will set you free."
The hag cackled again. "My, my, the High King is desperate."
Peter bit the inside of his cheek. "Just...tell me what you know, you loathsome creature, and you will be free to crawl back to your mistress."
"I can't help thinking what Aslan would say, could he hear you now," the hag purred. "I don't think he would approve of such words from his High King, Son of Adam."
Peter stiffened, lowering the sword a fraction of an inch. "Aslan isn't here," he snapped, raising it again. A small trickle of blood ran down the hag's neck.
"No, he isn't," the hag smiled again, that strange, creepy smile, before saying, "Very well, High King, since you are so desperate to cater to my wishes, I accept."
Peter smiled, lowering the sword completely now, returning it to his side. "You'll tell me, just like that?"
"Provided you let me go, to return to my mistress," the hag responded, sounding giddy. It suddenly felt frigid down here, and the robes Peter was wearing were not enough to ward off the cold. He shivered visibly now, wrapping his free arm around himself in an effort to stay warm.
Peter nodded, a plan already forming in his mind. The hag had made a mistake, reminding him of Aslan. A stray memory ran through him, a memory of Aslan, holding down a wolf, then letting it up and ordering, "Follow him, he will lead you to Edmund."
"Very well," the hag rubbed her hands together, pacing back and forth within her cage. "Your little king came in here, not twelve hours ago."
Peter's head snapped up. So the hag, the hound, and the black bear had been the last ones to see him. He'd been such a fool, searching in all the wrong places.
"He came down here," the hag continued, "looking rather poorly. He demanded to know how Her Majesty returned, and where she was. He did not look well. He kept shivering."
Peter bristled at the term "Her Majesty" being used for the White Witch, but otherwise stayed perfectly calm, waiting.
"I told him you had already interrogated me," the hag went on, winking at Peter as she spoke these words, "and he insisted that he had the right to know. Then," and here she smiled, "her agent came for him, snuck up behind him and hit him over the head. I suspect he walked right back up through that palace of yours without anyone being the wiser."
Peter rolled his eyes. "I think someone would have noticed-"
"I put a spell on them, so that no one would," the hag cackled again, playing with the rags that were her clothing. "They're gone. The agent took your little Just King back to the Witch, and she will certainly have her revenge on him."
The High King blinked at her. "Tell me where she is," he demanded, leaning forward threateningly.
The hag smirked. "Ah-ah," she gestured to the cage between them, and Peter sighed, pulling out the ring of keys tied around his neck and grabbing the one that would open the cage doors. He slowly unlocked it and opened the door.
The hag jumped gleefully out of the cage. "The agent will take your brother back to Her Majesty, like he was ordered to. She wants justice for what was done to her. Where do you think she will take him, Son of Adam?"
Peter glared at her. "Justice?" he repeated the word like a perverse curse, clenching his teeth.
"Yes, of course. Edmund never paid the price for his betrayal, and the Witch will not make the same mistake twice. Where did you think she was taking him, Son of Adam?" The hag smirked at him.
Peter flinched as a dozen images of Ed, his little brother, lying dead on the Stone Table ran through his mind. But the Stone Table was broken. It couldn't be used for that purpose any longer...could it?
The hag cackled, starting to hobble towards the door, her back to the High King. Her first mistake. Peter knew he had to let her go if he wanted to find out where the Witch was, but he couldn't help indulging the fantasy of Rhindon slicing through the air, embedding itself in her neck...
Wait, what was he thinking? These weren't the thoughts of High King Peter the Magnificent. He never killed anyone outside of battle. And battle was different. Then you weren't thinking about what you were doing, and you weren't killing a fellow creature, but what they fought for.
He had never wanted to kill someone as badly as he wanted to kill this hag, except perhaps the Witch when she came to Aslan's camp and demanded Edmund's blood.
"Her Majesty will take back her kingdom, and that boy will die on the Stone Table. His blood will pour out, and Her Majesty will be appeased, as will the Deep Magic. The Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve will fall. Aslan is not here to save you this time." A smile touched the hags lips. "Or maybe she'll corrupt him again, turn him against you and make him betray you like the little traitor he remains. It worked before."
Peter did not know what exactly happened next, only that one moment, blinding rage surged through him at the thought of the Witch killing his siblings, murdering Edmund for something Aslan had already paid the price for, of ice and fire, and even the thought of the hag saying Edmund could betray them again.
His anger was turning his sight red, and the next thing he knew, the room was spinning and swirling. A loud shriek pierced his eardrums and he was falling, falling...
"Peter!" The unmistakable sound of Susan's voice broke through the haze, and suddenly she was beside him, gripping his arm so tightly he was afraid it would fall off. He blinked at her, the image of her face fading in and out as she continued to shout at him in a desperate attempt to get his attention.
He felt like he was going to pass out. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
He didn't know where he was, what was happening to him. He couldn't understand why Susan kept shouting; the rushing in his head was too loud as it was.
Breaking out of her grip, Peter lifted his hands to cover his ears. He took loud, short breaths, in out, in out, trying to calm down. The world around him stopped spinning and he closed his eyes, wishing it all away.
Susan's hand on his forehead, her soothing voice, brought him back, and his blue eyes snapped open once more.
He looked around desperately, trying to remember where he was, what had happened.
It all came back to him suddenly, and he flinched. He was in the dungeons, with the hag, trying to figure out where Edmund had gone...
Susan and a wolf were standing in the dungeons with him now. They hadn't been here before. Susan's face was calm, impassive, but Peter looked into her eyes and saw the horror filling them.
With dread, Peter turned around, already knowing what he would find.
The hag was lying dead on the dungeon floor, her clothes-mere rags-stained with quickly spreading blood. Her wide eyes were staring up at the ceiling, lifeless.
Peter's sword, Rhindon, was sticking out of her midsection.
Vaguely, Peter noticed that it wasn't cold anymore. Then everything went dark, and he collapsed in Susan's arms.