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.

BEGUILEMENT

Edmund looked around the room King Lune had given him. His old clothes and the heavy cloak he had been wearing, the only things he had been allowed to bring with him from Narnia, had been spirited off somewhere while he was bathing earlier. No doubt one of Lune's people had taken everything to be washed and tidied, but that was a problem now.

It was the deep middle of the night, and he was supposed to be sleeping. He had tried to sleep. He needed to be well rested and alert when he set out for the Western March to find the antidote for the poison killing Peter. But how could he stay here wasting time when his brother was slowly dying? How could he sleep when sleep brought only agonizing visions of that death? When Aslan Himself had told him he must not tarry?

He pushed open the casement and the cold air rushed into the cozy room. It would be nothing to slip away now, to climb from the window and down the trellis to the flat part of the roof below and from there to the outer wall. But if he did, he'd have no cloak, no provisions, no weapon but the small dagger he'd been given when he was put out of his kingdom.

There were two apples and an orange in a silver bowl on the table. He could take them along, but he had no pouch to carry them. He could pull some blankets off the bed to use for warmth and bedding on the journey, but they would be a poor substitute for warm clothes and proper traveling gear.

It didn't matter. He had to go.

He shut the window again, turning to gather up what he could, and caught his breath. There before the hearth, a brighter gold than the flames, lay the Great Lion.

Edmund threw himself down before Him. "Aslan."

"Beloved Son."

The Lion nuzzled his hair, and Edmund leaned into Him, clinging to the tawny neck, no longer able to hold back the weary tears that had burned unshed inside him since Peter had pronounced his banishment and forever turned away. Aslan merely lay close to him, the heavy paws surrounding him, sheltering him, the warm nose nudging his face, the low purr soothing and calming him until he could cry no more and lay resting against the Lion's side.

"You were with me in the cave before, weren't you?" Edmund's lips trembled. "It wasn't just a dream."

"It was a dream, Dear One." Aslan gave him a Lion's smile. "And I was there with you, watching over you as you dreamt it."

Sleeping, and waking, oh defend me still. Edmund remembered the words, though he couldn't quite place where they were from. A prayer. A king's prayer from that Other Place, from a play older than the Witch's winter. Sleeping and waking, Aslan was with him. In his dreams and out of them. In Narnia, in Archenland, in the wilds of the Western March, He was there. Watching over him. Guiding him. Protecting him. Never failing. And yet–

"Aslan?"

Edmund's voice sounded much as it had at their very first meeting, when he had been only a child, bewildered and broken, not knowing what this great King had planned for him.

"My Son?"

"I– I've failed You."

The Lion merely looked at him with all-knowing eyes and waited.

"I don't– I didn't mean to, but somehow I've made a mess of everything."

"Why do you say that, Child?"

"Because–" Edmund looked away from the unwavering gaze. "Because otherwise I would still– Peter would never have–" He bit his lip. "I wouldn't be here."

For a long time, there was only silence. He could hear the crackle of the fire and the Lion's heavy breaths, but that was all. He couldn't bear to look up again and see disappointment in those golden eyes, though he knew it ought to be there.

"Edmund."

Aslan's voice rumbled through the room, soft but deep and rich, and still Edmund did not look up.

"Edmund Pevensie, look at Me."

Edmund slowly lifted his head and was surprised to find not censure but warmth and tenderness in the Lion's eyes.

"Do not assume that the difficulties you face mean that you have somehow done wrong, Beloved. In this world, in all the worlds, troubles will come. You are My chosen, so those who hate Me will hate you as well. It should not surprise you if you suffer for doing what is right."

Edmund nodded, though that seemed rather a grim prospect.

Aslan nudged his chest. "But I will see. I will remember. And I will reward you."

Edmund pressed close to Him once more, burying his face in His mane, breathing in His soothing scent. But after only a moment, he pulled away again.

"I have to go. I can't just stay here doing nothing."

"In the morning, Edmund."

"But You said I must not–"

"It is as foolish, Dear One, to blunder into something too quickly as come to it too late."

"But Peter–"

"You can best help Peter by preparing yourself wisely for what is to come."

Edmund took hold of His mane again, hands trembling. "Please, Sir, my sister, Lucy. They wouldn't tell me how she was. Is she– Is she–"

"She has recovered, My Son."

Edmund let out a shuddering breath, smiling faintly as at least that fear eased off his shoulders. "King Lune said I was to go into the west. That the Centaur Stormseer would meet me and tell me what to do."

"That is so. Stormseer is my faithful prophet. He speaks the words I give him."

"But Aslan–" Tears sprang into Edmund's eyes. "What he said in his message. He said I was– I was– That I would destroy my family. Please, Aslan, is that what You told him? Am I–" Edmund twisted his fingers deeper into the Lion's mane, once more hiding his face in its warmth. "Am I going to betray them again? Am I truly nothing but a traitor still?"

He would rather never see them all again. He would rather wander the wide world alone than again do them that kind of wrong. But was it true?

I suppose we can't help being what we are. Edmund could still hear his brother's words. He could still feel the dagger thrust of them and see Peter's empty-eyed acceptance of them. But Peter had already been poisoned by then, hadn't he? Surely, he didn't truly believe–

"You must speak to Stormseer when you meet him," Aslan said. "Ask him about the message he sent to Cair Paravel."

"But isn't he Your–?"

"Hear my message for you now, Beloved Son, one you must believe over anything else you have heard said of you. One you must treasure in your heart and not forget when you face the trials that are to come. I have taken you from a far place, called you from out of it, and said to you that you are mine. I have chosen you and not rejected you. Do not fear, for I am always with you. Do not be discouraged, for I am your strength and your help and I will Myself hold you up. All who have opposed you will be ashamed and brought down to nothing. The ones who have come against you will soon be no more. Even if you look for them, you will not find them, for I am with you, beside you, helping you." The Lion nuzzled his cheek. "You will remember this, Dear One?"

Edmund clung to Him, the precious words falling like healing balm over his grief-ravaged heart. This was what he was. Called. Chosen. Not rejected. Perhaps he couldn't help being what he was after all, and bless Aslan, this was what he was. He was ready to charge into the Western March now. Ready to take on whatever he must face. Aslan was with him.

He lifted his head, sniffling and laughing softly as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "I will remember, Aslan, and I'm ready. Shouldn't I go now?"

"If you go now, you won't have everything you need to complete your journey. You won't have what you need to save your brother before it's too late."

Edmund's face turned grave again, and he bit his lip.

"Everything," Aslan said, "that I have provided for you."

"Thank you."

Edmund didn't know what else to say. He didn't see how wasting the hours until dawn would help anything, but Aslan knew. Of course He knew.

In spite of himself, Edmund sighed.

"I know it isn't easy for you, Beloved, but you are weary." Aslan put one heavy paw on his shoulder, pressing him to lie down. "Sleep now, and morning will come."

Edmund shifted restlessly. "I can't sleep. Aslan, I can't. I'll only dream that he's–"

"Peace, Child." The Lion breathed sweet warmth on him. "I will give you rest."

Edmund laid his head against Him, suddenly drowsy. "But, Aslan–"

"Peace."

The Lion put His paw across him, pulling him closer still, and Edmund nestled against His side and surrendered to sleep.

OOOOO

"You swore he would not be harmed."

Peter did not open his eyes, did not move. There were so many different voices right now, and it was hard to tell which of them were real and which spoke only in his dreams. Or in his nightmares. He simply lay listening, drifting in the stifling darkness, wondering whose this particular voice was. It was female, but apart from that he could make nothing of the urgent, unrecognizable whisper.

"This will not be needed for much longer, I assure you."

That voice was male, Peter was certain, even if it was just a low whisper, too. Edmund? No, not Edmund. He'd sent Edmund away. He didn't really remember why just now, but he had. He knew there had been a traitor, but now he wasn't quite sure who that had been.

Someone, if it wasn't a hallucination, was lifting his head off the pillows. He wondered vaguely if he ought to see who it was, but then the motion stopped, and the female voice spoke once more.

"He's weakening by the day. I won't let you give it to him anymore."

"I told you what would happen."

"I didn't know it would do this to him. You didn't tell me that part."

"What will you do?" The male voice was soft but implacable. "Speak of what you know, and I perforce must speak as well. What do you think the punishment might be for what you have done already?"

"That was never meant to kill. That was only so there would be strong evidence against . . . He never would have believed it otherwise. Not about him. They were always too close. You said so yourself."

"I did indeed. And this is also necessary. No matter the evidence, he would not have believed without its help. And how else would we have rid beloved Narnia of that traitor? Pity even this could not make this one impose the penalty the law allows." The man's laugh was barely audible. "But he will thank you one day, when he knows all you have done for him. For Narnia."

Peter didn't hear a reply to that, but he felt his head lifted a little more and a few drops of something bitter touched his tongue. Then, for the brief seconds before the darkness took him, he thought he would suffocate in the heat.

OOOOO

Edmund woke at first light. Morning at last. As he had the night before, he had slept without dreaming, warm and secure between the Lion's paws. Aslan was gone now, but Edmund remembered His words. Called. Chosen. Not rejected. He could go into the west now in that knowledge, in that strength, no matter what else was said of him. No matter what he faced.

He grinned a little as he looked around the room. The orange and the two apples were still in the silver bowl on the table. He still had no traveling clothes or provisions or even anything to carry them in if he had. He had nothing he hadn't had the night before except Aslan's assurances that He would provide what was needed. Somehow it was enough.

"Aslan," he breathed, letting the light from the casement spill over his upturned face, "You know Peter is in danger. Please watch over him until I can get there. Watch over Lucy and Susan and keep them safe." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Sleeping and waking, oh defend me still."

There was nothing to do now but begin. He had fallen asleep with his clothes on, so there was no need to dress. He did, however, make quick work of the orange and one of the apples. Then, because one never knows what lies ahead and because the first had been so delicious, he took a deep bite of the second apple, too, and then flung open the chamber door.

With a yelp, a towheaded little boy tumbled into the room.

"Corin!" Edmund coughed to clear the apple from his windpipe. "Why in the world didn't you knock?"

The boy bounced to his feet, blue eyes bright. "Father said I wasn't to wake you, but that I might tell you, when you did wake, that he's waiting for you down at the stables. And he sent you this cloak to put on."

"Waiting for me?" Edmund took two more bites of apple and tossed the rest back into the bowl with the remains of what he had eaten earlier. Then he threw the cloak around his shoulders. "I wish I'd known. I thought I'd be the first up."

"He said Aslan woke him so he could have everything ready for you to go. And he has a surprise for you. I suppose you ought to hurry."

"I suppose I should. Thank you."

Edmund sprinted down the corridor, but the boy darted after him.

"Wait! Wait! Mayn't I go along with you, King Edmund?"

Edmund slowed a little, managing a distracted smile. "I don't see why not. They're your stables."

"No, I mean into the west. Please, mayn't I?"

"I don't think your father would much care for that idea."

"But I can help you. I'm eleven, or nearly."

"I happen to know you turned ten just three months ago."

"That's nearly eleven. Besides, I could help you. I could gather firewood and cook the supper and keep watch while you slept at night and, if any Fell Beasts try to get you, I could box them and–"

"I know you'd be a great help, but you'd better stay here." Edmund put his arm around the boy's shoulders as they kept walking. "I must be swift and invisible when I go back into Narnia. I'm sure you understand why."

The boy nodded gravely. "I just– I'd like to help you and the High King."

"I know, and I thank you for that. Peter would, too, if he were here. And someday, Corin, when everything is set right again, I promise I'll take you along on a trip somewhere special. Perhaps some exotic place you haven't been before."

Corin's face brightened. "Really?"

"Absolutely. Now come along."

As the boy had said, King Lune was waiting for him in the stables.

"How fares Your Majesty this morning?"

Edmund clasped the hand the older man offered him. "Very well, I thank you, and the better for your kind hospitality."

"You're most welcome, I warrant you." Lune drew his son to his side, smiling fondly on him. "I trust this scapegrace hasn't disturbed your rest."

"Not at all," Edmund said. "But, truly, you should have let him wake me. It is not seemly for Your Majesty to be kept waiting just for me."

"Nonsense. I've had much to keep me occupied since Aslan came to me this morning and even a guest to see to."

Edmund lifted one eyebrow. "Oh, yes?"

"A friend of yours, I believe." Lune chuckled as a chestnut-colored Horse came out of the stable.

"King Edmund?"

Edmund's face lit, and he ran to embrace his friend. "Phillip!"

"I always wanted to meet a talking Horse, and now we've had one for a guest." Corin fairly bounced in his excitement. "Are you surprised? Are you surprised?"

Edmund laughed and tried not to cry as he clung to Phillip's neck. "I am. It's as fine a surprise as I could ask."

Corin grinned. "He's a nice Horse. And he belongs to you?"

"Hardly," Edmund said, his voice not entirely steady "You might rather say I belong to him."

Phillip snorted. "Quite right."

Lune stood with his arms crossed and looked rather pleased. "You see now why Aslan wished you to wait until this morning."

"Why didn't you tell me he was here yesterday?" Edmund asked.

"Aslan warned me about that." Lune pretended to be stern. "It was feat enough to get you to eat and rest as it was."

Edmund grinned, a little extra color in his face, and then turned to his friend. "You'll come with me into the March, Phillip? I guess our host has told you where I must go and why. It will not be an easy journey."

"It is what I was sent here for, My King."

"Aslan?"

"Yes, My King. He told me when the Falcon was killed that I was to come here and wait for you. That you would need me."

"I wondered where you'd gone that day. I thought . . . " Edmund bit his lip.

"You thought I'd abandoned you?"

Edmund ducked his head against the Horse's neck again. "It doesn't matter now."

The Horse nibbled the back of his hair, nudging him almost off his feet. "Only Aslan's orders could have made me leave you that day."

Edmund clung to him for a moment more, and then, after quickly clearing his throat, he inspected the provisions in the pouches on his saddle.

"I see you have everything we'll need." He turned to King Lune, clasping his hand again. "You've been more than generous, Your Majesty. I will see your kindnesses repaid the moment I am able."

"No need," Lune assured him. "No need. My only reward will be welcoming you back here when your task has been completed and seeing the High King whole and hale when next I come to Cair Paravel."

Edmund swung into the saddle, his face suddenly grim with determination. "I pray that will be soon. With Aslan's help, I shall see it is."

He tousled Corin's fair hair and, with a final farewell, turned Phillip towards the west.

OOOOO

Peter struggled towards the light, towards the coolness against his cheek and the soothing moisture at his lips.

"Peter? Peter."

Someone was stroking his hair and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. He didn't have to puzzle over it this time. He knew that sweet, clear voice even before he opened his eyes.

"Lucy."

His own voice sounded thin and cracked, but she smiled at it, still stroking his hair. "Good morning. Are you feeling any better?"

He was glad she didn't make him ask for water or even seem to expect him to answer her question. She just patted his face and lips again with the cool, wet cloth and then set it down in exchange for his silver cup. The water was ice cold, perhaps it was pure melted snow, and he drank greedily of it.

"Not too much," she warned, pulling the cup away from him. "Not so fast."

He sank back against the pillows, shivering all of a sudden, and she tucked the coverlet up around him, only half scolding.

"See now?"

"Please," he murmured, grasping her wrist to bring the water close again and she finally relented.

"Just a little more, I mean it."

He drained the cup and then lay there clinging to her, shivering again.

"Stubborn thing." She scowled fondly down on him. "Now if you get a chill, Susan will blame me."

"Tell her it was by command of the High King."

His low laugh turned into a hollow cough, but she pretended not to be bothered by it.

"How about some breakfast?" she asked, her bright eyes hopeful, but the thought of food made his stomach roil.

"Now don't make that face, Peter. Some food would do you good."

"In a while," he pled. "Please, Lu, not just now. It's still so hot."

She felt his forehead and frowned, but didn't say anything else. He remembered how happy she'd been the night before, at least he thought it was the night before, when she'd said that he felt a bit cooler.

He squeezed her arm. "Couldn't I have another drink, Lu?"

She drew his head into her lap, caressing his cheek as she did. "In just a little while, I promise. Couldn't you eat something instead?"

He only sighed and shifted to his side. "Who was that man?"

"Hmm?"

"He was here last night. Talking."

She smiled indulgently and tucked an unruly lock of hair behind his ear. "Was he? What did he say?"

"I– I don't remember. I just don't think she was very happy."

"She?"

"He was talking to her." He knit his brow. "She, uh . . . I dunno."

"I think you must have been dreaming, Peter."

He thought for a while longer, trying to grasp faded little wisps of memory that hovered just out of his reach, but he was sure those weren't all illusions. Someone had been there. Maybe it didn't matter.

"I don't think I want any more of that medicine," he said finally. "It tasted nasty, and it made me too hot again."

Lucy's indulgent smile faded. "What medicine?"

"Mightn't I have some more water now?"

"Peter, what medicine? Who gave you medicine?"

He only winced away from her, the effort intensifying the pain in his head. "Can't remember."

"The only one in here last night was Susan."

"Oh."

Maybe it just didn't matter. He was too tired to bother with it anymore. He only wished Lucy would give him more of that cold water and not look so worried.

Author's Note: The words of encouragement Aslan speaks to Edmund at Anvard are paraphrased from Isaiah 41:9-13 which seems remarkably pertinent to Edmund in his situation, especially in the King James Version. The "king's prayer" Edmund remembers is from Shakespeare's Richard III, Act V, Scene Two. OldFashionedGirl95 was again a huge help in making this story fit for consumption, from brainstorming to proofreading and the myriad steps in between. I am ever grateful.

–WD