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.

DECEIT

If long continued, this elixir eventually brings death.

"You have to let me go." Edmund looked into the eyes of the King of Archenland, trembling at the direful words Lune had just spoken, his expression fierce and yet pleading, too. "Peter–"

"Someone has dared attack the High King with this Xerasthenia?"

Edmund nodded. "He shows every sign. I have to get back to Cair Paravel."

"You well know you cannot do that, King Edmund. Until everything is put right, Narnia is death for you."

"And death for Peter if I do nothing!"

Lune gave him a stern look, his hand still heavy on Edmund's shoulder. "And will you go back just to watch him die? Or will you hear all of Aslan's counsel and save his life?"

Edmund clutched his arm. "Forgive me. Please, go on."

"I know you wish to help your brother." Lune's expression softened. "I do as well. But your way leads not to Cair Paravel but into the far west."

"West?"

Edmund's heart sank. Was he to travel farther from home? Farther from his family? Farther from the opportunity to drive his sword through the heart of the villain who was bent on murdering Peter?

"You must go alongside the Archen Mountains until you reach the Western March," Lune said. "Once you cross into your own kingdom, you must be swift and wary. Aslan promised to send the Centaur Stormseer to meet you and guide you to where the antidote to this elixir may be found. He is wise in such matters and will tell you what you must do."

"Stormseer? No. There must be some other–"

Lune shook his head. "Those were Aslan's words. Stormseer has long been known here and in Narnia as a true prophet of the Lion. He blessed my own sons at their birth. Why should Aslan not send him?"

"The last message he sent to Cair Paravel, the one the Falcon was carrying when he was killed, it was a– it wasn't true. It wasn't true, but Peter and Susan believed it."

Edmund felt his blood turn hot at the remembered words. . . . he was an Adder still. And was he to go to this same Centaur now for help?

"It is what Aslan told me," Lune said, his usually jolly face grave. "I know nothing of what message you had before or what it may have meant. I can only deliver the message with which I was charged. How you act upon that knowledge, I leave to your own wisdom. I know He said in plain terms you're not to tarry. Now I see why. You hold your brother's life in your hands."

Edmund let the taut air out of his lungs. Now was no time to let his own grievances hinder him. "You're right. I will go."

"Meanwhile, I will send my doughtiest Knight to warn the High King. I would trust him with my life and that of my son."

"No." Edmund clutched Lune's arm again. "No. For now, whoever is behind this is content to use the High King for his own purposes. If he knows someone has discovered his plot, he may kill Peter at once."

"But–"

"No. I've had too much of treachery to leave this to the uncertainty of a messenger. I will have to make a swift journey and get back to the Cair before this villain knows he's been found out."

"I shall see to it that everything you need is ready for you in the morning."

Edmund stood up. "Tonight."

"Tomorrow, if it please you." Lune stood, too. "It will help neither you nor the High King if your quest fails because you were too wearied to complete it. For your brother's sake, stay here the night and start fresh at dawn."

Edmund's scowl warmed into a reluctant smile. "For Peter then. And I thank you for your hospitality."

Lune clapped him on the shoulder and called for a servant. Edmund soon found himself in a comfortable room with a cheerful fire and a deep and downy bed. He undressed quickly and tried to sleep, knowing Lune was right about his needing strength for the journey to come, but sleep would not come to him. He could only think of Peter, confused and hurting, terrified that he was going mad, tortured by nightmares. They both suffered from them anyway, but this poison would intensify their horror. And Peter would have to face that horror alone.

"Oh, Aslan," Edmund breathed as he struggled to fall asleep, "watch over him until I can get back home."

OOOOO

Susan sighed and laid her fork beside her barely touched plate. Sir Gilfrey immediately laid aside his own.

"My Queen does not find the meal to her liking this evening?"

She smiled slightly. "No, it's all very nice, I'm sure. It's just– It's been a long day."

"Forgive me, Lady. Shall I leave you?"

The Knight began to push back his chair, but she laid her hand on his arm to stop him.

"No, Gil. Do stay. I really don't want to eat alone."

He gave her a look of teasing reproof. "But Your Majesty does not seem to be eating anyway."

"I still would rather not be alone." Tears pooled in her eyes at the admission, and she dabbed them away with her napkin. Edmund was gone, Lucy was sleeping, and she didn't know where Peter was. Anyway, she was too frustrated with him to even consider seeking him out. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to–"

"No need to apologize, My Queen. You've had more to bear of late than should be asked of anyone, let alone your fair self." Gil covered the hand on his arm with his own, his dark eyes flooded with concern. "Might I be of any aid to you?"

"You've done so much for us already. Thank you for looking after Peter again. How– how was he today?"

She had been furious to find Peter sitting out in the cold with Lucy this morning. He knew Lucy wasn't completely well yet. What had he been thinking?

Susan had bundled her protesting sister back into bed and shooed her dazed-looking brother off to his study. What was done was done, and there was nothing for them to do now but carry on with ruling the kingdom that had been entrusted to them. She and Peter would have much more to be responsible for now that Edmund was gone, and she couldn't do it all alone.

"You may as well try to get something done today," she had told him, managing to keep her tone crisp and, if not exactly gentle, at least even. "I'm sure Gil will help you."

And the Knight had appeared as if on cue, bringing Peter some papers to look over, only too happy to assure her that he would see that Peter stayed focused on the work that awaited him. The last she had seen of her brother was him sitting at his desk, his head leaning on one hand and his brow creased with effort as he looked over some document Gil was urging him to sign. At least he was working.

"The High King accomplished a great deal today, I'm pleased to report," the Knight told her now. "May I ask you, Lady, has he said anything to you about the castle being overly warm? He said as much to me earlier, but I have not found it so."

"He told me the same thing this morning." Susan sighed. "Maybe I'd better go check on him."

"Perhaps in the morning, My Queen. I believe he has already retired for the evening, and it would not do him good to be disturbed. I can well imagine the events of the past few days have been wearying for you both."

She felt a pang of guilt at that. She knew Peter was grieving, but she was grieving, too. That didn't mean either of them could abandon his responsibilities. He and Edmund had been especially close, she knew that, but she had loved their younger brother, too. Loved him and fussed over him and spoilt him and been deceived by him. So deceived.

Before she could check it, sudden grief poured from her, wracking her with sobs and flooding her eyes with tears. She pressed her crumpled napkin to her mouth, trying to control herself as she had these past few days, but it was no use. Her dear, sweet, snide, fierce, beautiful little brother who would have done anything to keep her and Narnia safe was as gone as if he had never been. Perhaps he never had.

She gripped Sir Gilfrey's arm more tightly, resting her forehead against his shoulder, soaking his doublet with tears. He merely held her close, murmuring wordless comfort, and she leaned into him, glad for the moment to let someone else be strong.

OOOOO

The battle raged around him, blade on blade, blood on blood, death on death. Peter knew this battle. It was different from any that had come after it. It was his first.

He was terrified.

Rhindon felt heavy and awkward in his hand, he was clumsy with his shield, and he realized it was by some miracle and not his own skill that he yet survived. The blows he dealt seemed comically weak, and his hands seemed so small in spite of the gauntlets. Yet he fought on, knowing that he must, knowing he was meant to fight and live and become High King.

He was thirteen again, and this was Beruna.

Beruna. Beruna was a victory. Keep fighting. Just keep fighting. Victory is coming.

His Unicorn lay where he had fallen, an arrow in his side. Oreius, the Centaur general who had pledged his allegiance unto the death, stood with massive sword raised, forever frozen in stone. Peter just had to hold on. He had to just keep fighting until the victory came. It wouldn't be long now. The end was near.

He cut down a Minotaur and then hacked through a pair of Ogres. Just as he raised his blade to swipe the head off a Harpy, he felt an agonizing pain in the small of his back. He arched and dropped to his knees, staggered, numbed. Rhindon clanged to the ground and he pitched face first onto the trampled grass.

He managed somehow to turn his head enough to see the long blade that had been driven into his spine. It stood straight up, gleaming in the merciless sun until that sun was blotted out by someone looming over him.

Jadis.

He lay helpless before her, shaking with pain and fear, knowing his legs were useless now, limp and unfeeling. She ripped the sword from his back, ripping a cry from him as she did, and then she seized him by one arm and flung him against one of the huge boulders that littered the battlefield. He slid into a sitting position, his back against the rock, able to do nothing but look up at her.

She fixed her soulless black eyes on him from what seemed a terrible height. There was the slightest smile on her crimson lips and she drew a little breath as if she were about to speak.

"Peter! Peter!"

No! No, please!

He turned his head to see Susan and Lucy rushing towards him. They were very young girls again, Susan just beginning to bloom into beauty, Lucy still round-faced, hardly more than a baby. Why were such tender little ones even in such a place of death and horror? He fought to stand, to reach his sword, to call out a warning, but he could not.

At the sight of the Witch, Susan reached back for one of the red-fletched arrows from her quiver. Before she could bring it to her bow, Jadis raised her wand and Susan was only a graceful statue, her lovely mouth fixed in a perpetual "o" of surprise.

Ever-valiant Lucy, her tiny dagger already drawn, lunged at the Witch. Jadis lifted her wand again and then, with a smirk, picked up Rhindon instead and ran it through the small body up to the hilt. Lucy made only a tiny, whimpering cry, a child's cry, and then lay still. Dead.

Peter could do nothing but watch, unable to move, unable to scream, only numb.

The Witch smiled down on him. "What? Were you expecting someone to come for you, Little King? Someone who would sacrifice himself to save you?"

He opened his mouth in a silent cry of agony.

"Where could he be?" she taunted. "Perhaps banished forever from the Kingdom of Narnia? What a pity. What a pity."

Then Peter's heart soared, for he heard the thudding paws and thundering roar of the Great Lion. The Witch turned in horror to face Him as He leapt towards her. But then He stopped, only standing there, majestic and full of terrible splendor.

"Aslan," Jadis said, growing bold when He did not spring at her. "I have won."

And Aslan looked at her with eyes of golden sorrow. "You have won. Narnia is yours forever."

No, Peter wanted to scream. Aslan, no! No!

But again he could not move. Again he could not speak.

The Lion turned to him with a slow shake of His mane.

"Son of Adam." The words were filled with disappointment, filled with grief. "Son of Adam."

And then He bounded away and there was only Jadis and the greedy triumph in her eyes.

"I suppose, Peter dear, there is yet one thing I must do."

She picked up her wand, towering over him once again, bringing it slowly closer and closer until, with a playful little laugh, she abruptly laid it down, choosing instead to stroke the sweat-matted hair from his forehead.

"No, I think not."

As if he were a week-old kitten, she picked him up by the scruff of the neck and tossed him with a clatter of armor into the bottom of her battle chariot. He groaned as pain jolted through him, radiating from the wound in his back throughout his whole body, sparing only his numb, useless legs. She stepped in next to him and, with a sly smile, traced long, white fingers across his cheek.

"I think I will rather keep you mine forever."

He could only lie trembling at her feet, freezing now in the sudden blast of winter wind and the snow that swirled over the trampled green field. She cracked her whip, and before her chariot reached the road leading westward to her icy castle, Peter could see the empty-eyed forms of his sisters already shrouded in white.

The whip cracked again, and he jolted awake. Freezing. He was freezing. He curled in on himself, huddling there in the middle of the bed in his thin nightshirt, shaking with cold. He had heard not the cracking of a whip but the banging of his balcony doors, flung open by the wind and weather, open to the blowing snow that was whitening his floor and banking against the wall. Teeth chattering, he groped for his blankets, but they were out of reach, heaped at the foot of the bed. Even his hearth fire had burned out.

He lay there for a long moment before he was finally able to sit up. But when he tried to stand, his legs collapsed under him and he slid to the floor. He hadn't the strength now to get up, to move, to even call out. All he could do was lie there shivering on the icy marble and let the howling wind cover him with snow.

OOOOO

Once she had calmed herself again, Susan had murmured another apology, and Sir Gilfrey had once again dismissed it.

"If I can be of some little comfort to you, dear Queen, it is no hardship but a very great honor."

With the utmost care and tenderness, he had blotted the tears from her face with his own handkerchief and then escorted her back to her chamber. Now she sat at her dressing table combing out her long black hair. Normally one of her ladies-in-waiting would have done it for her, but she had dismissed them all. She didn't feel like listening to the chattering Dryads or the fretting Peahens and Poodles.

Sighing, she slipped off her dressing gown, ready to get some sleep. No doubt, as Gil had suggested, things would look better in the morning. But before she got into bed, she sighed once more and put her dressing gown back on. She hadn't checked on Lucy since before supper, and she knew she ought to look in on Peter as well. He was never one to complain much, but he had mentioned the heat to her and to Sir Gilfrey, too. Perhaps he wasn't well. She ought to find out for sure.

She found Lucy sleeping quietly, her temperature normal and her breathing even. There was a little extra pink in her cheeks now, and Susan couldn't help wondering if she had cried herself to sleep again. Poor thing, she didn't understand about Edmund. Susan suspected she never would. It just wasn't in her to believe someone she loved so much could be anything but good and honorable.

Once she had pulled the covers a bit more snugly around her little sister's shoulders, Susan went across the corridor to Peter's quarters. She didn't knock, not wanting to wake him if he was sleeping. She merely pushed open the door and was greeted with a blast of cold air and the sight of her brother huddled and motionless on the floor, white with snow.

"Peter!"

She hurried across the room to close and bolt the balcony doors. Then she went to Peter, swiftly brushing the snow from his face and pushing aside his damp hair so she could feel his forehead. He was shaking and burning with fever.

"Oh, Peter."

She knew she couldn't move him herself, so she grabbed the blankets from the bed and tucked them around him and then went to the door.

"Leander! Call for Cerise at once and then get the High King's valet, some of the chambermaids and a couple of soldiers in here right away. It's urgent."

"At once, My Queen." The Cheetah bowed and darted off.

She went back to Peter, hardly able to see him now for the tears that welled into her eyes. Why hadn't she noticed he was ill instead of just being angry with him? She knelt down to kiss his hot cheek.

"What were you trying to do? Cool off or kill yourself?"

She wanted to take him in her arms, to warm and comfort him, but instead she went to the hearth and laid a blazing fire. Soon the room was filled with warmth and light and help. Peter's wet nightshirt, sheets and blankets were replaced with warm, dry ones and two Faun soldiers lifted him back into bed. While the Otter chambermaids mopped up the melting snow and otherwise put the room back in order, Cerise examined her latest patient, her lovely eyes dark with concern.

"I will give him some boiled white willow bark for fever and pain, Your Majesty. Why have I not been called to him before now? He's been ill some while, has he not?"

"I don't know. He's had headaches since he returned from Ettinsmoor this summer, but he always says they are nothing to worry over. I thought–"

"When did he last eat?"

"I– I don't know." Susan stroked his pale cheek. Why hadn't she really noticed before how sunken it was? How worn he looked? "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know yet, My Queen. His only symptom seems to be the fever, but the cold cannot have done him any good. Do you suppose he put out the fire and opened those doors himself?"

"He'd been complaining of the heat," Susan said. "I just– I don't know."

The Cherry Dryad stroked the back of Peter's hand and then drew back when she realized Susan was watching her.

"Someone must stay with him, My Queen," she said, a delicate flush suddenly in her face, "if he is a danger to himself. I would be happy to–"

"I'll stay with him. You'd better go prepare the medicine he needs."

With a low curtsy, Cerise left the room, and all the others followed after her. When Susan turned back to her brother, his eyes were open, wide with uncertain fear.

"Su?" He grabbed her hand, struggling to sit up. "Su, you're all right? You're not– Where's Lucy?"

"Shh, shh, shh." She pushed him back against the pillows. "Lucy is sleeping. She's fine. Just rest now."

"She was dead, and you were–" His voice caught, and she sat down next to him and took him into her arms.

"Peter, it's all right."

"I lost," he sobbed. "I lost you and Lucy and– and Narnia. And Aslan, He– Aslan–"

"No, shh, it was only a dream."

"I lost. And I was lost." His chest heaved. "Because– Edmund– didn't come."

"Shh, Peter. It was just–"

"Because– I sent him– away."

He huddled against her, burning her with his hot skin and hot tears, and she held him close, her own tears burning, too.

"We sent him away, Peter. We sent him away because we had to."

He was too exhausted to fight sleep for long, and his violent sobs quickly slowed into whimpers and then deep, shuddering breaths and silence.

She still held him there against her. She still wept.

"We had to."

OOOOO

Edmund exhaled heavily and scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Another dream. Another merciless nightmare. He'd seen Peter lying chained and frozen solid in the Witch's dungeon, blue eyes sightless, blue lips still, and Susan sitting on the icy floor holding him, her tears freezing like little diamonds only to shatter as they fell. And Edmund had stood outside the cell beating his fists on the bars, screaming to be let in, but no one heard him.

He wiped the slick sweat from his upper lip and got out of bed. It took him only a moment to dress himself. He had to leave tonight.

Now.

Author's Note: As ever, OldFashionedGirl95 and Laura Andrews have been tireless in their efforts to make this dreck readable. Thank you both!

–WD