HIDDEN CURSE
Edmund: 16
Peter: 19
Susan: 18
Lucy: 14
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Hope this lives up to your expectations.
(My knowledge of the exact details of Narnia is limited as I've only read Magician's Nephew and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and seen the movies. Please don't hate me for making things up.)
Chapter 3: Answers But Not Really
Edmund had stopped speaking, and the room was silent. The kind of silence that presses in on your ears, and makes you want to scream. But in the end, screaming won't make it go away. Edmund decided he couldn't take the silence anymore; he had to see Peter's face. He slowly opened his eyes to find a pale but still composed Peter staring at him. He waited for Peter to hit him with a thousand guilt inducing questions, but they didn't come. Peter bit his tongue against them. He could see the guilt swimming in his brother's eyes, and there was no need to make it pour over. He didn't have to ask Edmund why he hadn't told anyone until know, even though he'd known for years. He understood that Edmund hadn't wanted to worry them, that he wanted them to have at least five years of normalcy. It didn't make it less infuriating though, but expressing that wouldn't help the situation any.
Instead he asked, "When did it start?"
This clearly wasn't what Edmund had been expecting, his mouth hung open a bit. Realizing he probably looked like an idiot, he quickly shut it. "At the first snow fall, about two weeks ago."
Peter nodded, and looked out the window at the snow with new found disdain. Edmund couldn't take it anymore. Peter was acting too calm.
"Are you mad at me?" He whispered.
"A bit, Ed. But I understand why you didn't say anything, even though it's slightly frustrating. And it's also hard to be mad when I'm so terrified for you."
Edmund nodded, and flopped over onto his stomach so his head was facing the other wall.
"Are you scared?" Peter asked into the silence.
"Yeah, I guess but I've known since I was 10, Peter. There's nothing anyone can do about it. I'm never going to turn 17. I'm never going to court any beautiful women in some far off land. I'm never going to see Lucy turn 18. I'm never going to see you grow old, and hobble along on a cane," Edmund said that with a smirk in his voice. "I'm never going to see Susan get swept off her feet by some gorgeous man, and you being a pain in the ass, making sure she doesn't get hurt."
Peter nearly choked on all the tears threatening to erupt out of him. "How can you be so calm and accepting of this?"
Edmund turned over, and looked Peter square in the eye. "Because I have to be."
They stared, looking each other in the eye, for a few minutes, until Edmund broke their gaze. "You should get some sleep Pete, you look awful."
"You don't look much better," Peter smirked at him.
Edmund rolled his eyes before saying, "I mean it Peter."
Peter left the room grumbling something to the effect of "who's the mother hen now".
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The next morning Peter entered Edmund's quarters to find him sitting at the window seat, looking out the window. Edmund turned when he heard his brother shuffle in.
"I thought I told you to go to bed," he said with his eyebrows raised.
"Did you really think I could sleep after last night?" Peter replied grumpily.
Edmund's eyebrow dropped into a guilty scrunch, and looked away.
Peter walked over, and cupped his chin, turning Edmund's face so he had to look at him. "Ed, look at me." But Edmund kept his eyes focused on the wall behind them.
"Edmund Pevensie, look at me." Edmund shifted his eyes to look into Peter's. "This isn't your fault, you didn't ask for this. And you shouldn't feel like you have to apologize for this. So please don't feel guilty. Please." He let his hand drop.
Edmund nodded but didn't look like he believed him. Peter sighed.
"Your Majesties, the specialist is here," a faun said from the door frame.
Peter nodded. "Bring him in."
The specialist turned out to be a rather plump dwarf, who waddled in with an air of knowledge and experience. He measured up each boy, but it didn't take long to figure out which one was the cursed. The boy with dark hair and eyes, had a sickly complexion, and his cheek bones jut out too far.
"What can I do for you, your Majesties?" He bowed deeply.
Peter looked to Edmund to explain, but Edmund was staring out the window, refusing to turn around. So Peter explained everything Edmund had told him.
"That particular curse has not been used in over a hundred years to my knowledge. It is especially nasty, and among the highest ranks of dark magic. The cure is very difficult to find, to the point that there might no point in looking."
Edmund still hadn't moved. Peter opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was spluttering. Until an idea popped into his head, he knew it wouldn't work, but he had to try, had to ask.
"What about Lucy's cordial?"
"A cordial will only slow the curse down, buy time. It cannot cure it, as it is not an illness or injury."
"And what is the cure?"
The dwarf looked reluctant to give the answer to this until, "I, High King Peter, demand you to tell me."
"An apple from the few remaining trees that grew at the beginning of time. That grew from Aslan's roar. Only one creature, a centaur, is still alive from that time, and knows where they are. But this centaur has not been found for many a year. Sources say he is still alive, and it is rumored he is Tyran forest."
"Thank you, good sir," Peter said gratefully.
The dwarf bowed deeply. "I am afraid that is all I know, your Majesties. I will stay in the area for a few days if you find you need my services, but with your permission, I ask to leave now."
"Permission granted," Peter said nobly.
With one last bow, the dwarf plodded out.
"Edmund?"
Edmund didn't remove his gaze from outside the window. Peter was beginning to wonder how long Edmund had been sitting like that, and worry that he was cutting the circulation off in his ankles. "Don't you dare think about it, Peter."
"Think about what?"
"Going to the Tyran forest."
"Why not? Do you expect me to just sit here and do nothing?" Peter's voice dropped a few notches, "Do you expect me to just sit here and watch you die?"
Edmund finally turned around. "Yes," he said quietly but firmly.
Peter's mouth froze in a shocked "o." "Has this curse made you daft as well?" He screamed.
"Pete, haven't you ever heard anything about the Tyran forest, and surrounding areas?"
Peter shook his head numbly.
"Well I have. They're books on it in the library. It's dangerous if that's even the proper word for it. Most people never make it out alive if they enter its borders. It's barbaric Peter, and you are not going."
Peter looked dumbly at his only brother, before choking out. "So?"
Edmund's pale face flushed with anger and exasperation. "SO? Are you out of your mind? Do you want to get killed?"
"But you're going to die, Edmund."
"I know. But it's not going to help any if you die too." He said defiantly, and got up, and started to walk towards the door.
"You should probably stay in bed," Peter whispered.
"What difference is it going to make?" Edmund shot back, and slammed the door behind him.
Peter sat on Edmund's window seat for many hours, his head swimming with too many thoughts. He wished he could pin them down, and examine one by one but every time he got close to doing so, they exploded into a new order.
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Edmund sat down at the dinner table without looking at his family. He'd heard Susan and Lucy's cries to when Peter told them everything that had happened, and he was not about to look at their faces, eyes still puffy from crying.
Edmund pushed his food around on his plate, feeling his family's gazes burning a hole on the top of his head. Susan cleared her throat. "E-Ed can you pass me the butter?"
Edmund passed her the butter, and caught the look in her eyes. It made his insides flash hot with guilt. "So how was sewing lessons with Mrs. Beaver?" He asked Lucy, trying to make light conversation.
"They, they…they were fine. She showed me how to cross stitch."
They fell silent again.
Edmund stared at his food. He might as well try, so he picked up his fork to Peter's sharp intake of breath, and started to slowly eat his carrots.
He looked up to all of them staring at him, almost waiting for him to break right in front of them because he consumed food.
"You don't have to walk on egg shells around me," Edmund told them in a frustrated voice.
"We-we're not Ed," Susan said, barely audible.
"Yes, you are."
"Then how do you want us to act?" Peter asked.
"Like this isn't happening. Like normal."
With that Edmund's stomach hitched, and he ran out of the room, covering his mouth.