The Cair Paravel dungeon reeked of sulfur. It was not one of those dark, damp dungeons where you nearly passed out from the smell of rotting corpses; Caspian, not being a tyrant, tried his best to make sure it was a reasonably clean place, not too horrible considering what its purpose was, after all. Still, it didn't take a genius to know that, while it was not exactly a blood-bath, there had been persons who had come down here and never returned to the unbarred sunlight. Worse were the thoughts of those who were led out, into the warm outer realms once more, only to have their heads cut off or their necks broken-an execution.

Now, to be completely fair, most of the people who had suffered so dreadfully, having such horrid deaths, deserved it to some extent. Largely, they were murders or thieves or rapists or traitors to their country, and so they got what was coming to them. But Edmund, as he was taken down those narrow stone steps, his expression recoiling automatically thanks to the brimstone scent, couldn't help wondering if there had been others like himself and Lucy who had ended up here-the worse place in all of Narnia, perhaps-by some nasty mistake. Had there been other traitors before him who hadn't meant to betray? Had there been queens like Lucy living in misery because they had unwittingly disappointed their king?

He decided that there had to have been. After all, Caspian was not a bad person and, for the most part, he was a good king-his subjects truly did love him. And even an impulsive, hot-headed prince like Rilian might turn out to be a good follow-up king. Yet, surely there had been kings before them who were less than honourable. And if good, kindly rulers like Caspian and Rilian could send a frightened little queen, just barely in her early teenaged years, to such a place, then what doubt was there that a wicked king before them hadn't done, if not something worse, than at least the same?

Edmund wished he could see Lucy right then; they had taken her down into her cell through another way, and he was worried about her. Envisioning the poor little girl who used to meet him at the lamppost, the sweet young woman he'd kissed on the hill the morning after the eclipse, afraid and alone in a dark corner of so grim a place made him want to cry. It made him want to throw all of his body-weight on the guards, knocking them over, and rush to Lucy's side telling her everything would be all right. But he was so tired; he knew they would catch him, that he would never reach her before that.

Finally they arrived at his cell. It was dark and roomy with only a stool and a hard-looking bunk for furniture. Ghastly, indeed, but not gruesome. There was one window; very small and quite high-up, letting only a few slates of light in. The little sunbeams fell, Edmund noticed as the guards began to lock the cell-door after more or less shoving him in there with a rough heave, on an inscription. It didn't look official, not like something whoever built the place had carved, not a true engraving, but, rather, words embedded by someone who had been a prisoner in there-most likely long before his time. One or two of the letters were slightly faded, but Edmund could still read them without much difficultly.

The inscription said: 'When Aslan bares his teeth, winter meets its death. The Lion shall show me mercy' in long, deep block letters.

They did not seem like the words of a lunatic or a truly black-hearted criminal, so he couldn't help but wonder if the person who had written that had simply made the same foolish mistake he had, falling in love with the wrong person and putting himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was stupid; and it was traitorous, but he hadn't wanted to hurt anyone. If Aslan really had shown mercy to the man-for somehow he just knew it had to have been a man, something about the shaping of the letters not being girly enough for a woman-Edmund hoped he, too, would be given such mercy. All the same, he would forgo any forgiveness, he would now put his head on the block, if only it would mean Lucy being released. She deserved to be back in her royal apartments, safe and sound, not here, living like a prisoner.

Although Edmund didn't know it (the stone walls were very thick), Lucy's cell was the next one over from his. Hers was a very little bit nicer than his; possessing a small table and a proper chair instead of a stool, though it hadn't any cushions, as was fitting for a queen-even one in disgrace. Interestingly, there was an inscription on her wall, too, and the letters were curly-a bit more faded than the one on Ed's wall as well-like they had been carved by a lady. It said: 'When Aslan shakes his mane, we shall have spring again. The Lion will give me justice.'

Lucy ran her fingers along the words on her wall; wondering who had written that and what crime they had been accused of.

"Your Majesty," a small voice said as the cell-door creaked open.

Taking her hand off the wall and spinning around, Lucy turned to face her visitor, a talking badger with sad eyes and a sympathetic, furry little face. She liked him at once and was quite sure she had seen him working around the castle during her short-lived time as queen, even if she had not known the fellow personally. At least his face seemed much more understanding than the guards'-a friend when she had almost thought she had none.

"Hullo," she answered, noticing now that the badger was carrying some blankets and a wooden box in his black arms.

"I am sorry you are imprisoned, Your Majesty," said the badger, shaking his head. "Whatever wrong you did or did not do, I am a badger, and badgers do not forget. I cannot forget that you were a kindly, good queen to the beasts during your sort rein, and can only wish for the best for you."

Tears of gratitude filled Lucy's eyes; and she came over to him and kissed him on the top of his head.

"No need for all that, Your Majesty."

"The guards let you in here?" Lucy asked when she found she could speak again. "With those things you've brought?"

"Yes," said the badger; "but they are not from me, they are from your husband; he did not wish you to be cold tonight, since you must sleep here."

That explained the blankets. "What about the box?"

"Ah, well, his Majesty says it gets very dark here at night and sometimes, depending on the season, it gets almost pitch black at certain hours. So he's given you some candles and matches."

"Has he said anything else about me or Edmund?" asked Lucy, after a pause.

"You mean the former Sir Edmund Philippe?"

Lucy's heart caught in her throat. "Former?"

"His Highness, Prince Rilian, has officially stripped him of his title, Milady; King Caspian may give it back, if he dismisses the case in the end. No one knows. For the time being, he has no titles anymore. He is a nobody."

She began to breathe easy again, her heart-rate slowing down now that she understood the badger's meaning. "Do you really believe that?"

"No, I'm a badger, I remember how bravely Edmund fought in the raid," replied the kind beast. "But to the court, at the moment, he is considered a nobody. They still call you queen, for now."

"Thank you," Lucy whispered, taking one of the blankets and pulling it around her shoulders.

"I must leave now, unless there is anything further, Your Majesty." the badger told her. Actually, he would have much rather stayed and kept the poor queen company, but he knew it wouldn't be allowed. "If it is any comfort, my queen, I do not believe King Caspian intends for you to stay here very long."

Lucy nodded, trying not to cry again as she watched the badger trudge out of the room, leaving the box of candles and matches on the table.

Caspian had been right, it was soon almost unbearably dark; and Lucy lit a candle, watching the little flame. It flickered twice before she could get a match thats fire would actually stay on the wick. For some reason it made her think of the Lantern Waste, making her feel more lonely than ever. She wished Peter was there with her, always having been such a wonderful comforter. No, forget that, she didn't wish that at all; she wished she was with her brother anywhere but here in the dungeon. She wished she and Edmund were little children again. Lucy found she missed his sister, her sister-in-law, Lady Susan, too.

Meanwhile, Caspian had spoken to Edmund's father and stepmother so that they would know where their son was. The half-Calormene stepmother instantly burst into tears, and even said, once very quietly to her husband on their way out, that she now thought it would have been better if they had simply married 'Eddie' off to poor little Lucy Pevensie when the countess first brought up the subject. Then none of this would have happened. All those notions of marrying the boy off to a Tarkheena seemed rather silly in light of where her stepson was at the moment.

What was worse, they weren't even allowed to see him, as the king had decided that there would be no visitors permitted at present. The first visitor to be allowed in to see Edmund would not arrive for another two days; and in the meantime, Lucy was taken out of the dungeon and restored to living in proper chambers again. They weren't, as one might assume, her old chambers-the queen's chambers-rather they were simpler wings of the castle with only a few white-walled rooms and two windows that, even when their curtains were drawn to let in the sunlight, were always latched. There was one set of doors; and more often than not, a guard or two just so happened to be there on the other side of them.

While still the queen in name, Lucy continued to feel like more of a prisoner than anything else. It was true that she now had ladies-in-waiting again, no longer slept in a cell, and wore fine royal garments just as she had before being arrested, but she was not even permitted to be outside for more than an hour a day-and that was only accompanied by at least one stern-faced, hawked-eyed maid-servant. Fancy meals on golden plates were brought daily, the doors opened for the badger every few hours bringing in any material things she might need, yet the king himself never came to see her-nor did Rilian.

When she finally mustered up enough courage to ask her maid-servants about Edmund (no one had told her whether or not he was still imprisoned), they wouldn't answer her. Some of them shot her dirty-looks; others would avoid her eyes; and the remainder would act quiet and bland, changing the subject immediately.

Edmund remained in his cell, thinking over everything that had happened, replaying every moment in his mind. He made a little engraving of his own on the wall, using a pocketknife from his doublet pocket that the guards had not taken away. It was not words, rather, it was a little picture of the lamppost; a poor likeness to the real thing, perhaps, but done well-enough that one could tell within a couple of glances what it was supposed to be.

There was the sound of the door opening, and a blond, deep-chested knight in a toffee-coloured tunic walked in. At first, Edmund thought he was dreaming, since he'd had no visitors up until this point, but he soon realized that his brother-in-law truly was standing there.

"Ed?"

"Pete, the guards let you in?" He had been sitting on the floor by his little lamppost carving, not having bothered with the stool (it had a slight crack on the seat, anyway); now, with a faint grunt, he got up on his feet again.

"King Caspian agreed to let me visit you, allowing me to pass is simply following orders for them," Peter explained, his eyes downcast, looking pained.

"The king saw you, then?"

Peter nodded.

Edmund couldn't help raising a brow and asking, "Where have you been?"

"Because of my rank I've been given a manor in the countryside, away from court, in addition to other properties. I left Susan behind at that manor, I did not wish her to remain at Cair."

"Why?"

"Because," sighed Peter, lowering his voice-just in case, "she had a hand in helping you escape the night you and Lucy jumped my horse over the drawbridge, and I don't want her called in for questioning."

Edmund nodded. "She took it all right?"

"Well, you know Susan, none too pleased about living away from everything, but it really couldn't be helped. Besides, I believe she may be with child; so that would be two lives in danger if she remained here."

"Did they call you in for questioning, Peter?" Edmund asked quietly, his Adam's apple bobbing like he was holding back a cry.

"Yes, they did." he admitted grimly, wincing. "Lord Sopespian's a nightmare, let me tell you that."

"Have you seen Lucy?" said Edmund, biting his lower lip so hard that he tasted blood.

Peter shook his head. "The only male creature that's been allowed in to see her since they let her out of the dungeon is a badger who works as a sort of manservant to the king and his son."

"So she's not in a cell anymore, at least." Edmund was comforted by that.

"I will get in to see her soon, Ed. They cannot deny me entry for ever, I am her brother."

Edmund glanced up towards the only window and muttered, "There's a rumour amongst guards-I hear them talking sometimes outside when they are patrolling the grounds nearby-that King Caspian is already looking to replace Lucy as queen, that he's taken an interest in Lord Pole's daughter, is it true?"

"No, Lucy's fate is undecided, but I was under the impression that Jill Pole was precontracted to my cousin."

"Peter," said Edmund, a little shakily, just to set the record straight; "we didn't, you know, Lucy and I...we...didn't do what they think we did."

"I know," murmured Peter, looking very sorrowful.

"They wont put her to death, will they?" Simply saying those words made Edmund's chest ache, but he had to know, and Peter was the only one he could ask.

"You know I wouldn't let it come to that, but even if it were not for my intervention King Caspian wouldn't put a child on the block, I shouldn't think."

"He'll send her away if...if she's convicted?"

"Probably."

"And me?"

Peter couldn't look his brother-in-law in the eyes. "I really don't know, Ed."

"They'll behead me, won't they?"

"No..." he did not sound convinced.

"I don't care," said Edmund. "I don't care what they do to me, since there's no chance of getting away now, I just wish the king had given me some sort of reassurance that Lucy would be..." Here his voice trailed off.

"I won't testify against either of you," Peter promised him. "That's what they want, but I won't."

"I knew you wouldn't."

"I don't think they like me so much anymore."

"Because you won't go against your own sister and brother-in-law?"

Peter went a little red in the face. "Yes, and because I got into a fist-fight with Lord Sopespian."

In spite of everything, Edmund felt the overwhelming urge to laugh long and loud at the mental-image of Sir Peter Wolf's Bane hitting that smug, irksome Telmarine-Narnian lord. "Seriously?"

"He bumped me on the way out of a meeting."

"You hit him for that? Really?"

Peter scowled, looking dangerously angry just thinking about it. "No, after he bumped me, he made a distasteful comment regarding Lucy, that's when I hit him."

"What did he say?" Edmund wanted to know.

"He made the vulgar suggestion that there was no point in having a trial and witnesses and all that rot to begin with when King Caspian could simply sleep with his wife and would know if she was a virgin by whether or not she bled."

"If I get out of this alive, remind me to stuff my knuckles up his nose at least once." he growled.

"I have to go now, Ed." Peter said, after a pause. "I will try to come back and see you again...if they'll let me."

"If you see Lucy, can you tell her I said I was sorry?"

"This was all a misunderstanding, it wasn't really-" he began.

"No, Pete, I could have stopped this...I shouldn't have used that tunnel to go see her that night...just because I knew about it didn't mean I had a right to use it."

"Be strong, Narnia is still a merciful place."

"I don't know if I believe that all the time."

"What about the inscription?" asked Peter, glancing at the wall.

"I don't know if whoever did that actually got his mercy in the end."

"But you like to think he did?"

"Of course."

"What about your picture? If it's supposed to be the Lamppost, you ought to carve little lines like light coming out of it."

"But there is no light, Peter." whispered Edmund, his voice nearly inaudible. "It's flickering...that's why I didn't put any lines...the real one might burn as bright as ever, but mine flickers."

AN: Please review.