Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.

DUPLICIY

The breath shuddered out of Edmund's lungs at his brother's words.

Edmund, I think I must be losing my mind.

There was something wrong, Edmund knew there was, something more and more wrong since he'd come back from Lantern Waste, but not this. Oh, please, not this. No. No. No.

"Peter."

For a long moment, there was only the rushing of the surf on the windswept beach, and then Peter raked both hands through his tawny hair and pressed them against his head, grimacing again.

"I told Susan and Lucy I couldn't remember what happened to me when I was in Ettinsmoor. That's– that's not altogether true. Most of it is a blur, I'll admit, but I remember some of it. I– I didn't want them to know." His face was suddenly a sickly gray. "I remember hitting that tree over and over again. And the last thing I remember is that giant laughing and saying, 'Now I crush that pretty royal head. Little by little.'"

"Peter."

"Then he put his hand over– over my face and started squeezing." Peter closed his eyes, and there was sudden sweat on his upper lip. "Just– just slowly sq–squeezing. More and more. I couldn't breathe, and I could feel the bones start to sna–"

"Stop." Edmund pulled him into a fierce embrace. "Just stop. Stop. Don't think about it anymore. It's over."

"Is it?" Peter clung to him, his breath coming in little gasps, his face pressed against Edmund's shoulder. "Eddie, is it? What's happening to me? I can't think straight anymore. I can't remember things. Nothing makes sense. What if– what if he did crush something inside my head? Something that's still not right? Something that will never again be right?"

"You took the cordial, Peter. That heals everything, doesn't it?"

"It should. Why hasn't it?"

"Maybe because you're already all right. Maybe there's just nothing left to heal. Maybe–"

"Maybe I'm just . . . going mad."

"No." Edmund tightened his hold, shaking him a little, half-growling the words through gritted teeth. "No. No, you're not."

Peter only trembled against him, and Edmund forced him to look up, frightened himself by the sheer terror he saw in those eyes.

"Peter, you're not."

"You can't tell anyone, Edmund. You can't."

"The healers–"

"No. Not anyone. I don't– I don't know what would happen if the people thought I– If they wondered– They might panic if they thought their High King was . . . not right. Our enemies–"

"But the girls–"

"No. Especially not the girls." Peter shook his head frantically and then winced. Even that hurt him. "I've told them I have headaches. Just leave it at that."

"Peter, you can't–"

"Swear it, Edmund. You have to. I need you to." His voice quivered, and he took a painful hold of Edmund's arms. "Please."

Edmund searched his anxious eyes and then dropped to one knee there in the sand. He bowed his head and brought the back of Peter's hand to his forehead.

"I swear before you, My High King, and before the Great King who rules us both, I will never speak of this without your leave."

He looked up to see the blue eyes brimming with relieved tears, and then Peter pulled him into his arms.

"It's all right," Edmund murmured, feeling his brother still quivering against him. "It's going to be all right. You're going to be all right. Tell me again about the soldiers."

"The soldiers?"

Edmund pulled back to look into Peter's bewildered face, determined to steady him again. "You said some of them are leaving the army. When did you find out?"

"I, uh . . . Just now. After I left the throne room. Oreius told me. Coming right on top of what the Dwarf said about you, I was afraid you– I didn't know what to think. I–"

"Oreius thinks I did what? Took money to make sure we lost in Lantern Waste?"

Peter nodded warily, and then a hint of an uncertain smile touched his lips.

"It's got to be a mistake, doesn't it? You couldn't have. You couldn't have." He wiped one hand over his face, and then he smoothed his tousled hair and straightened his shoulders. "Come on, Ed. We'll get it all sorted, eh? Starting with Friend Glawkin, don't you think?"

Edmund nodded, lips pressed tightly together. "I'd like much more information from him than we've had yet."

They walked back towards the castle, the Gryphon and Tigers of Peter's guard trailing silently behind. Oreius waited at the edge of the sand until the two Kings reached him.

Peter stopped before his general, "I want details on exactly who is saying what about the Lantern Waste campaign. If there is gossip, I want to know who's spreading it. If there are witnesses, I want to speak to them. If my brother and King is being slandered, I want to know by whom and why."

The Centaur glanced at Edmund, and then turned again to Peter. "As I said before, Majesty, there are . . . disturbing proofs, and those from soldiers I have long trusted."

Peter lifted his chin, now every bit the High King. "I daresay no more than you and I both have trusted King Edmund all these years."

The formidable general made the slightest of bows. "It is so, Majesty. No doubt when the truth is had, we will find our trust has not been misplaced."

Trust in me or in your soldiers? Edmund wondered, but he said nothing.

"I will bring you the information you seek, Majesty." Oreius assured Peter, and with a nod, Peter headed up the pathway back towards the castle.

"Do you think he's still nearby?" Edmund asked, hurrying after him. "The Dwarf?"

"I don't know, Ed. Someone must know where he is. We'll just have to find out."

The Royal Chamberlain, a faun called Cronus, told them he had seen the Black Dwarf leave the throne room shortly after court had been dismissed, grumbling about his payment and justice and why there was somehow nothing fit to eat at what was meant to be the capital of the civilized world. But as Peter and Edmund made their way down to the kitchens to see if Glawkin had been seen there, they were detained by a hesitant, cultured voice behind them.

"If you will pardon me, My King . . ."

The brothers both turned, though Edmund knew already that he was not the one being addressed.

Sir Gilfrey bowed almost apologetically. "If you have a moment, High King, I very much need to speak with you . . . regarding those matters you asked me to look into."

Peter frowned slightly. "Certainly, Gil. Edmund and I will–"

"Alone, if I might, My King." The Knight glanced at Edmund and then at Peter. "I think– It is rather important, Sire, I pray you pardon me."

Edmund allowed nothing but calm control to show in his face. "I can see to this myself, Peter, if you have something you need to do."

"If you're sure, Ed."

"Oh, I'm sure. I'd very much like to settle things with our friend right now. Once and for all."

Peter smiled. "I'm sure you would. Let me know what you find out, all right?"

Edmund nodded, and the Knight bowed to him.

"King Edmund."

"Sir Gilfrey," Edmund returned, coolly.

He watched as the Knight led his brother away, and then he hurried to the kitchens.

OOOOO

Peter shoved back the stack of documents on his desk and rubbed his eyes, the words he had been trying to read only a merciless blur of black on white.

"So what it boils down to is that Calormen has been trying to buy ships?"

"So it would seem, My King." Gilfrey shuffled through the papers and pulled one out. "As you see, the Governor of the Seven Isles reports that Calormen has made them repeated offers despite your edict that none of our people sell to them."

"But no one in the Seven Isles agreed to sell."

"Correct. And you can see that, according to this report–" Gilfrey pulled out a different paper. "–the Calormene requests stopped six months ago."

Peter leaned his elbows on his desk and dropped his head into his hands. "Then . . . why is that a problem?" He squinted blearily at the Knight. "I hope you haven't made me slog through this mess all afternoon just to see that everything is all right."

"I wish I could say it was so, My King. Yes, the Calormenes stopped their requests for ships six months ago." Gilfrey pulled out another report. "And as you can see, that was when Archenland began building up her navy. Almost to the day."

Peter nodded. "And you're saying there's a connection."

"I cannot say that for certain, My King." Gilfrey shrugged slightly. "It just seemed . . . troubling to me. I thought you should be aware of it."

"Why are you telling me this? Edmund usually deals with these matters. Or Lucy, since she's Marchioness of the Seven Isles and in charge of about anything having to do with the sea."

"I just–" Gilfrey looked uncomfortable. "You are High King. I thought you best should know. And I understand Her Majesty Queen Lucy has been unwell."

Peter sighed. "Yes. I need to go see her."

"I trust it is nothing serious."

"Just a chill, I believe."

"I am relieved to hear it, My King. But you can see why I did not wish to disturb Her Majesty."

"Yes. Of course. But Edmund–" Peter broke off at the pained look on his friend's face. "What?"

"Nothing, My King. No. King Edmund has nothing to do with this, I have no doubt. It's just, with all the . . . uncertainty surrounding him of late, I hated to trouble him with such matters."

"I think he's had some bad luck is all." Peter smiled hopefully. "Don't you think? I mean, he and I were just discussing everything earlier. Now that we've talked, I see I'd have to be mad to believe even half of these things that are being said about him."

"Surely your brother hasn't tried to convince you that you are mad," Gilfrey said, concern in his dark eyes.

"No. No, nothing like that, Gil."

"Your Majesty is certainly nothing of the kind."

"Let's hope."

Peter gave him half a smile and took the goblet he was offered.

"Madness," he muttered half to himself after a long moment's thought. "'Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go.'"

"What do you say, My King?"

"Oh." Peter shrugged. "Just something from a play I once saw."

Gilfrey sat on the edge of Peter's desk with his own goblet and smiled. "A good one, I trust."

"A great one. With much to say on the nature of man and kingship and faithfulness and betrayal." Peter frowned slightly. "I wish I could remember it."

"Mayhap the players shall return one day and you will see it again."

"No." Peter laughed softly. "No, those players are most unlikely to come to Cair Paravel. But there is perhaps no place more suited to Shakespeare's wit and magic than fair Narnia."

"Shakespeare, My King?"

"Never mind, Gil. You wouldn't have heard of him." Peter drained his cup and stood up. "I think I'd better go see how my sister is doing. After supper, I will write to King Lune to see what he says about buying ships from the Seven Isles. Oh, and Oreius is supposed to bring me some information about the Lantern Waste campaign later on. Do me a favor and look it over for me when it's ready, will you?"

Gilfrey smiled. "I'd be very pleased to, My King."

OOOOO

Peter padded up to Lucy's bedside, careful to make as little noise as possible. Susan was already standing there holding an empty cup and a half-full bowl of soup. Edmund was sitting on the edge of the bed with one of Lucy's hands in both of his. Both of them were looking with anxious eyes at their sister's still face.

"How is she?" Peter whispered.

Before Susan could do more than open her mouth, Peter heard a tiny giggle.

Susan sighed. "Lucy, you promised."

Lucy's blue eyes popped open. "But I want to say goodnight to Peter." She reached her free hand up to her oldest brother. "I've hardly seen you this past week."

She might have been eighteen, a Queen and a woman grown, but she still knew how to use a playful pout to her own advantage. As usual, Peter was helpless against her.

"I take it you're supposed to be sleeping," he said, his grin indulgent as he took her hand, but then he frowned. "You're like ice, Lu. What have you been doing?"

"Nothing but sleeping." Her pout deepened. "I'm cold and I'm tired, but that's all. I don't know why everyone has to make such a fuss."

She shivered and nestled further into her downy bedding, pulling Peter down to sit by her at the head of the bed.

"Lucy," Susan began, but again Lucy turned wide blue eyes to her oldest brother.

"Make them go away, Peter. I only want you."

How could he resist that?

Susan rolled her eyes and left the room with Lucy's dishes.

"You're awfully cold, Lu." Edmund squeezed his little sister's hand. "Sure you shouldn't have some more tea or hot chocolate or something?"

"I couldn't possibly hold another drop of anything. Susan is trying to drown me as it is."

"All right." Edmund rubbed her hand briskly and then tucked it back under the covers as he stood up. "Feel better, okay?"

"I'll be better in the morning. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," he warned, and then he gave her a wink. "Night, Lu."

Peter stopped him before he could leave. "Did you . . . find what you were looking for?"

"Not a trace." Edmund's dark eyes were grim. "I was told it might be in the stables or even somewhere in the forest, but I couldn't find it. I'll look again tomorrow."

"It would be useful to have," Peter said, though for some reason he was struggling now to remember why.

"Very useful." Edmund agreed. "Don't worry, Pete, I'll find it. I need it more than you do."

Lucy frowned looking from Edmund to Peter and then back to Edmund. "What are you looking for?"

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"Edmund–"

"Goodnight, sister dear." He kissed her forehead. "And remember to keep your promise."

Before she could protest further, he hurried out and shut the door behind him.

"It's that horrid Dwarf, isn't it?" Lucy gave Peter one of her determined looks, one that said she wouldn't be put off. "What's happening? Why would anyone say such things about Edmund?"

"Dunno, Lu." He pulled her up against him a little, his arm around her shoulders and her head in his lap. "We're trying to find out what exactly is going on. How did you know about it anyway? I thought you've been sick the past day or two."

"Sick. Not dead. Between Susan and all my ladies-in-waiting, there isn't much I don't hear about."

Peter sighed, wishing the whole issue and his nagging headache would both disappear. "Edmund's right. It's nothing for you to worry over."

"I won't worry as long as I know you'd never believe anything bad about him." She snuggled more tightly against Peter and then looked up into his face. "You feel too warm. Are you all right?"

He pushed her head back into his lap, holding her closer. "I only feel warm to you because you're too cold. Want me to put more wood on your fire?"

"No." She clung tighter. "Just sit with me a while. You look tired."

He stroked her fair hair. "I really should let you sleep."

"I will sleep. If you'll stay a while, I promise I'll go right to sleep."

His mouth turned up at one side. "Like you promised Susan?"

"Please?" She toyed with the embroidered trim on his doublet, her eyes again turned up to his. "Pretty please?"

"Just a while," he conceded. "And you go right to sleep. I'm worried about you."

"You don't need to be. I'll be better in the morning. I promised Edmund." She closed her eyes with a contented sigh. "You are nice and warm."

She shivered again, and he pulled her comforter more snugly around her. True to her word, she was soon asleep, but he was in no hurry to leave.

Of all the royal chambers, this one had the best view of the sea. Lucy's sea. From here, there was nothing to see but sand and an endless expanse of rolling waves, nothing to hear but crashing surf, nothing to smell but fresh salt air. He always felt calmed coming here. Sometimes, when he was getting ready to turn in for the night and was making sure the rest of his family were safely in bed, he would just stand there on Lucy's balcony watching the sea and the stars, breathing in the night and the peace that always seemed to rest in this place. He had no doubt his youngest sister's closeness to Aslan was the source of that peace, and he was glad to always find it here when he sometimes could not find it elsewhere on his own.

"Aslan," he whispered, and he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Just for a minute, he told himself, but soon he, too, was asleep.

OOOOO

Despite her best intentions, Lucy was unable to keep her promise to Edmund. Over the next two weeks, her illness grew only worse. The healers had no explanation for it. The symptoms, they said, were baffling: increasing chills and sleepiness, a lack of appetite, nothing else really wrong. Susan stayed with her almost constantly, though Lucy did little more than sleep the days and nights through.

The younger Queen's mysterious sickness was the most talked about topic of the day. At least it was until, noticing a strange odor coming from the wine cellar, one of the cooks, a Whippet, and her Badger helper, opened the large keg that seemed to be the source of the problem. In it, in place of the beer that ought to have been stored there, was the body of a Black Dwarf.

Author's Note: The quote Peter mentions is, of course, from Shakespeare's Hamlet. Yet again, the help of OldFashionedGirl95 and Laura Andrews in saving me from authorly embarrassment cannot be overstated. Thank you!

–WD