No sooner had the room been plunged into darkness, Edmund heard his sister's cry from across the hall. It was not a cry of woe but a cry of agony and that concerned Edmund more than any other sound he had heard that night. Within moments his blade was drawn and he reached to fling open the door but he found the threshold remained stubbornly in its place. Several hard yanks and it still did not falter and at the sound of another scream, Edmund doubled his efforts to get out of his current prison. When it did not budge an inch, the Just called out for his older sister.
"Sire?" the voice on the other side of the door that inquired was not Susan's but that of Cyriacus. Concerned, flustered and confused, the surgeon called for King Edmund again, "My Liege?"
"Cyriacus!" Edmund called hoping that the faun could offer assistance with the door or even news of what had attacked Susan.
A new voice called out to Edmund. It was a feminine voice seeped in worry but it belonged to the wrong sister. "Ed!"
"Lu?"
"Sire?"
The door rattled from the other side in an attempt by the surgeon and Lucy to aid Edmund. Another scream emitted from across the hall and Edmund doubled the efforts to get out of the room's only exit. "Susan!" It was Lucy's gasp that time and it was followed by the surgeon's fearful and unbelieving muttering of "By the Lion!" Taking his shoulder to the wood, Edmund put all of his strength to the door praying that it would budge.
By the third try the door gave way as if it were never latched at all and the Just was forced to regain his footing so as to not run into anyone. Within moments Lucy was by her brother's wondered why Lucy and Cyriacus were not inside the sickroom tending to what ever had attacked Susan.
He cast his eyes to the room where Susan's cries of pain were emanating. Candlesticks, vases, inkwells, parchment, chairs, bedside tables- all that could be carried- flew about the bed in wild circles. Susan was in the middle of it all, her face was ashen and her eyes were contorted in a mixture of agony and fear. The rigid form Dores' form began to levitate from the large bed taking Susan along with her. The woman's bulging blood shot eyes began to turn a soulless black and all Edmund, Cyriacus and Lucy could do was watch Susan lift her head slightly to look, caught in a silent scream. It was quite clear to Edmund that the arm was broken. It was contorted in a sickenly odd angle and the jagged white bone jutted out from her arm.
"This is my castle, child of Helen." Dores explained to in a deep gravely voice that held no human warmth in it. As Dores spoke in a voice that was not her own, Peter, Oreius and several body guards came skidding down the hall, blades raised. Confronted by the scene, Peter muttered an oath as what ever was speaking in Dores' place continued. "There is no force that can sway me from getting my revenge. I have already whetted my appetite with the blood of your miserable country's youth. My hunger is insatiable…and you, Child Queen will help me in the end."
Peter muttered an oath as he made his way to the door, determined to dodge the objects in motion. All at once, they whizzed towards the High King at alarming speeds. At the last moment Oreius tackled Peter out of the way as a candlestick pierced the wooden door that the High King had stood in front of moments before. What ever was holding Susan and Dores captured certainly did not want brothers or kings rushing in to save the day. In a brief moment, the doctor regained his head and with a pointed look to a gray fox bodyguard and demanded that Waylon was found with all haste. As the fox skittered away, he resisted the urge to tuck his tail between his legs as he ran. The scene was a horrid one to encounter for a young fox yet to bare his teeth in battle, after all.
From with in the room, Dores gave out a strangled cry in her own voice, however strained as it was. "It was provoked, my Lady," the thin voice told Susan. "The spirit pushed me down th-" Dores paused, taking a sharp intake of breath from pain.
Lucy strained her neck to see and hear the going-ons as the objects still orbited around her sister and courtier. Peter, Edmund and Oreius had begun conferencing in brief urgent tones as to how to get Susan out of the precarious situation, though their eyes never left their target. Lucy briefly wondered what would happen to Dores as the faun's hand enclosed around the young Queen's shoulder. "My Lady," Cyriacus whispered with grim lines about his face, "if there ever was a time for the cordial that Father Christmas gave you, it would be now."
Lucy nodded and sprinted the way she came, willing her foggy and tired mind to recall where she set her cordial and why she had ran out of her chambers with out it. She passed the little gray fox and Waylon sprinting to where she had just run from. Things were happening at lightning speed, too fast to think, too fast to react. What ever happened that made the ghost in the castle turn so violent so fast must have been something profound, Lucy decided. A sense of impending doom began to bubble up into the Valiant's throat along with the cold taste of fear at the thought of how helpless she felt a few moments ago with Susan's cries of pains and Edmund's curses and bangs on the door reverberated in her ears.
Lucy reached the door to her chambers and paused in the threshold. Although she had left the room encompassed in a warm light from her wall sconces, it had plunged into a thick darkness. The thirteen year old in the Valiant cried for her to not enter and for her mother. Another room with a cozy fire and a cat curled on her lap was what her mind told her to enter, not this strangling darkness. But the ashen face of Susan and the intensity in everyone's voice spoke louder than her fear. Dores was sure to die if Lucy did not return with all haste. And so the queen took a tentative step inside the room, pushing the fact that the air was dense and ice cold, making breathing difficult.
She nearly ran into her dressing table as she made her way into the sitting room. Her hands groped in a panicked speed, looking for the flint to light her candelabra. The air was thick and it seemed as though something moved swiftly in the darkness. Lucy doubled her efforts, dropping the flint on the floor. After several tries, a weak light lit a small circle around Lucy's feet as she combed the room looking for her cordial. It wasn't in her sewing box, or on the mantle, next to her book or on the chair. Each second brought panic clouding her mind until realization struck her.
"I set it near my bedside table!" she murmured to herself quietly and began to make her way to the slightly ajar door. Her hand touched the cold metal handle and Lucy could not help but notice how her breath came out visibly in shallow puffs. The Valiant's fingers enclosed around the handle and a force threw her across the room. Lucy's back hit the far wall with full force, knocking against the wall with a sickening thud. In a pile of skirts, Lucy crumpled to the floor, almost too shocked by the force of the impact and suddenness if being thrown, to see the door to her bedchamber-and to the cordial-slam shut. The world spun and her head throbbed where it met the wall. Beside her, her candle had gone out, plunging the room in darkness.
A pressure began on the young queen's throat, as if a giant's hand was encircling her neck. Panic rose in her throat as she realized that she was the only one in the room and as the cold pressure on her throat tightened. She was going to die in that room. Killed by a foe she could not see and never would she be able to have tea with Mr. Tumnus again, nor go for rides with Susan. There was something else, though…something that seemed so important a few moments ago…she tried to recall it but her mind could not form around it and the force was making her breathe in strangled, short gasps. A noise came from her throat in an attempt to get air, though it hardly seemed human to her. The world began to turn fuzzy and a reflex in Lucy demanded that she fight with all of her strength. Kicking and flailing, the young queen did just that though the invisible hands did not wane.
"My Queen!" A startled cry came from the door way and as the Elderly Gentleman entered from the hall, the pressure retreated and air came spilling into Lucy's lungs making her chough and sputter on the floor. Lightly the large old cat rested a paw on her arm and retracting it, let the multicolored paw stay suspended. "Easy, there." He instructed to his queen, bidding her to take slow, deep breaths until her chest rose and fell in an easy pattern. Observing the young monarch, the old cat noted how pale and drawn her face was and how her pupils were wider than what they should have been even in a dark room. "Can you tell me what happened?" E.G.'s gruff voice held what little tenderness that his personality allotted. With missing youngsters, a dieing woman, a mass panic at hand and now half of the monarchs injured, it was shaping into a hectic night.
The Valiant's eyes centered on space as she spoke slowly, "I was coming here for something…and-and…I was thrown across the…um…room…" There was something she had to do, something she needed to tell the old cat, but her mind was not able to figure out what it was. Her world was spinning and she found the words she needed slipping away from her tongue. She sat there for a moment, attempting to figure out why she was supposed to be in her chambers. And then from across the room the door to her chambers creaked slowly open and Lucy recalled what she was there for. "My cordial! E.G., can you fetch my cordial from the dresser?"
The cat dutifully ran to retrieve what his queen requested as Lucy attempted to stand. The world around her spun but she tried to put it from her mind. As nauseating as being dizzy was, Lucy had to deliver her cordial. E.G. retrieved the little vial as requested and as he passed it into the young Queen's hands he flicked his bushy tail in suspicion. He wasn't too keen on the way Queen Lucy was swaying precariously on her own feet.
"Are you certain your able to walk, Majesty?" he inquired, not beating around the bush.
Replying with a distracted 'aye' and began to run to where she had come from with E.G. shortly on her heels. Her head throbbed with every step she took and her neck pulsed from where she was choked. Only one thought consumed her and made one foot go in front of the other. 'They may die.' She told herself to the rhythm of her breathing and strides, 'Su and Dores may die. The blood of your subject and sister is on your hands if you don't hurry!'
As she got closer, she heard raised voices in a jumble. Though all were speaking at once and it was impossible to discern who spoke what. The young queen skidded to a halt and with relief found her brothers inside the room with the good surgeon and Waylon.
Father Christmas's gift had allotted the young girl entrance to many a sick-chamber and she tried her best to walk over and around the strewn objects on the floor. At Dores' bedside, Waylon knelt with his hand in hers, urgently pleading with her to stay with him. The nobleman's head was bent, dark circles had appeared under his eyes and he had seemed to have consumed a considerable amount of liquor between the time he was informed of the sad news of his child. Waylon seemed to radiate desperation in his body carriage and in his voice as he assured his wife that she would live to see another child grow under their care. His tone was desperate, like the frayed end of a rope being strung through a small ring. All comfort the teenager had associated Waylon with was fading in the moment and it was hard to see such a rock-like figure in her life crumble.
Susan stood at the foot of Dores' bed; thankfully no worse than when Lucy had left. The Gentle held her broken arm close to her body and her uninjured hand held a rag to the wound to staunch the bleeding from the protruding bone. Susan's face was ashen and covered with a mixture of fear and pain that she tried to hide from their brothers. Peter and Edmund did not seem to believe her when Susan assured them that she was quite alright-more shaken than anything. Lucy did not buy it anymore than they did but the cordial would heal the physical wounds of the unnatural attack.
Lucy must have been standing at the door for a length of time (though it did not seem so) for Susan called to her sister, wondering if she was quite alright. And Cyriacus ushered the young queen to the dieing woman's bedside, telling her that there wasn't any moments to spare.
Lucy could feel the glances of her brothers and sister upon her as she plodded with the grace of a giant to Waylon's side. When the Elderly Gentleman spoke to the other three, his voice sounded so distant. "She was thrown, High King. I came to update you on the meerkat-chick situation and I saw young Queen Lucy get tossed across the room as if she were not but a rag doll. She seemed a wee bit shakey, my lord. Hit her head fairly hard, I'm supposing."
As the conversation between the old cat and the others continued, Lucy's hand found Waylon's as she took a quick moment to comfort the now broken man. He lightly returned her squeezed and looked down on the thirteen year old. The drinks he had consumed gave his mourning gray eyes a glassy hue to them and his face seemed so much older than his nineteen or so years.
Wordlessly the Valiant bent down to rouse the woman who seemed to have passed out after the spirit had left her body no doubt tattered. Lucy's small hand gently shook Dores' shoulder and she called out the woman's name. Time stopped as did the quiet exchange the elder Pevensies had with E.G. and the very voice from Lucy's throat sounded drawn out for an eternity. The only noise in the sick chamber was that of Waylon's pleadings of "Oh, no. By the Lion, no!" Lucy's eyes met the regretful ones of the court surgeon who-moving as if laden by a heavy load- quietly took out a small silver mirror and held it to Dores' mouth and nose.
When no breath came to fog the glass up, the surgeon looked up regret and Waylon let out a strangled cry as he held fast to his wife's lifeless hand. Wordlessly, Cyriacus took a blanket from the foot of the bed and covered the mirror in the room, and then muttered the old blessing for the wandering soul of his former patient.
Lucy numbly made her way to her siblings, her head pounding to a near roar. She buried her head into Peter's chest, letting silent tears moisten the fabric of his tunic. Susan's hand had (as expected) gently touched her sister's shoulder to comfort as tears spilled down her cheeks for her friend. Edmund, with his head bowed, stood slightly apart from the other three, his forefinger and thumb resting against his nose. Too much blood was on his hands because of his silence…far too much.
"I wasn't swift enough!" Lucy sobbed, internally willing the pressure in her head and the dizziness to release her. She faintly heard Susan's condolence, calling her 'dear one' and telling her that it wasn't her fault that Dores did not make it.
"You had no hand in the lives that were lost tonight, Lu." Edmund quietly told his sister, causing the girl to look up at him and Waylon to stand up.
"Indeed, my lord?" Waylon challenged, his steps staggered by drink and his gray eyes wild with the madness grief brought. "Had your sister not run faster, perhaps there I would be holding my wife and not her corpse."
" 'Twas not Queen Lucy's liability. There are none to blame for death except the one who called her." Oreius spoke up. He did not like the desperate look in the young widower's eyes. Many a man tried desperate things with that look and Oreius was not going to allot any harm to their Majesties.
"Those are pretty words, General," Waylon spat angrily, kicking the chair he sat at during his long vigil across the room with such force it splintered in two against the stonewall. His eyes darted around like a wild animal's looking for an escape. Swiftly Waylon exited the room and began down the hall with such haste it seemed unnatural. The kings and queens exchanged glances, worried as to what Waylon was going to do in his grief. Wordlessly Susan and Edmund followed in his wake, leaving Peter to console Lucy.
In order to keep up with Waylon's pace, brother and sister found that they had to run. He led them through twisting corridors and passages until they found themselves on the top of the battlements. The assembled crowd in the courtyard ceased from arguing about the best way to bring about such a large search as the familiar silhouettes of their Just King and Gentle Queen appeared against the night sky.
Waylon halted on the very edge of the battlements. The wind earlier that night had advanced in ferocity so that their hair smacked against their faces like whips. Thunder pealed through the courtyard, heralding the storm. A bolt of lightning illuminated Waylon's face and reflected off of the steel of his dagger. His eyes were not his own as he held the weapon to his neck.
"Waylon," The Gentle pleaded, sounding as helpless as she felt. Her voice shook with unshed tears for her dear friends. She took a step forward to comfort her friend and was answered with a sharp intake of breath and the flash of the knife being held closer to his jugular vein. "Waylon, please."
"See reason, man! You're acting rash."
In the darkness, Waylon let out a cold, heartless laugh as he stepped up on the edge. The cackle echoed through out the courtyard, causing the blood in every Narnian vein chill. "You should have left well enough alone, King Edmund." What ever was speaking through Waylon announced. With a pang, Edmund recalled his harsh words of a challenge he had issued, and the bone chilling accepting of it.
"Don't do this Waylon." Susan pleaded when her brother's voice some how seemed to fail him. How she wanted Waylon to laugh light heartedly, call her Gentle Susan and assure her that all would be fine. But as his soulless gray eyes fell upon her, he gave a hideous grin.
"Queen Susan the Gentle, you'll be joining us in the abyss for all eternity." He announced and slit his throat. Blood from his main vein gushed like a fountain, painting the two monarchs red with the blood of their own country man. Waylon's limp body wobbled precariously on the parapet, his sightless eyes open and fixed on the two. Then before either Edmund or Susan could grab him, the corpse fell backwards into the panicking crowd who had observed it all with a terror that had crested into a wave of fright.
A/N: Here it is! An update! Finally taken (and translated) from the jumble of a notebook from camp! Chap 13 is in the works and call me butter I'm on a roll. Halloween '08 or bust!