Thank you x1000 to anyone still with this story! I apologize for getting distracted on another project instead of finishing this one. Special thanks to dearizkyp for persistently requesting updates! (sometimes I need the reminders!)
Yes, Edmund gets two chapters in a row but that's because Peter passed out. And an unconscious character makes for a pretty poor narrating character.
Edmund
I wasn't sure what woke me. But from beneath my half mast eyelids, I was able to see sand and the still burning husk of the jungle. Blinking languidly, I rolled onto my back. Above me, the sky was blushing coral along the horizon. As consciousness tightened its grip on me, reports of aches and pains flooded my brain as every inch of me made its discomfort known. My ribs were the worst off, allowing me only shallow breaths for fear of more punishing pain. That wasn't to say that the rest of me was much better. I don't know how I'd managed it but somehow, for the first time in my life, there wasn't a single part of me that didn't hurt in one way or another. At the moment, my right hand seemed like the least injured of my body so I went to move it. Only to find it trapped beneath a heavy weight. Confused, I looked to the side. And immediately panicked.
Peter was laying beside me, unmoving on the sand. Neither the fire in front of us nor the faint dawn above us provided me with enough light to truly assess his condition but I didn't need any to know that he was in bad shape. I yanked my hand free of him and pushed myself upright, already reaching for the hem of my tunic. It had been previously torn in many spots, making it easy for me to rip off several sections of cloth. As I worked, I cursed myself over and over in my head. I hadn't bandaged Peter last night. I had gone to sleep and left him bleeding. My brother was going to die and I could have stopped it if only I hadn't been stupid enough to shut my eyes. How long had I slept? Why hadn't I tended to him sooner? What if it was too late already? The thought jolted across my mind and into my heart, throwing off the rhythmic beating. The fabric fell from numb fingers as I frantically pawed my way up to his chest, pressing my palms flat against his breast, searching for the reassuring motion of his lungs, the steady tempo of his heartbeat. My trembling rendered my attempt useless. Frustrated with myself, but unable to calm down with the terrible notion of Peter's death hanging over me, I lifted a shaking hand to his head, gently turning his ashen face toward me. I held my other hand over his parted lips with anxious anticipation. I could feel no breath. I offered a wordless prayer to the Lion, the desperate aching need in my soul crying out with far more meaning than my tongue could ever express. Resolutely, I knelt in the sand, quivering hand hovering above Peter's blue-tinged lips.
Finally, a stir of air against my fingers. My eyes widened but I didn't move, fearing I had only imagined the slight sign of life. But it came again, a tiny puff of breath that meant the world. My relief stole my strength and I collapsed, folding at the waist and knocking my forehead into his ribs as I slumped on top of him. Peter couldn't afford for me to indulge myself in such a way. The next second, I was sitting ramrod straight, fingers deftly picking up the shreds of my shirt. I looked past his left leg, for now ignoring the swollen bulge of his ankle, to his mangled right one. The sand beneath the limb was a sodden lump of dark crimson. Steeling myself, I came around to Peter's right side to more easily treat his wound. The sight prompted fresh bile to climb my throat. Beneath the ruins of his trousers, strips of skin hung freely, revealing the white of bone just visible through the mixture of solidifying blood and the oozing fresh blood. The entire site was speckled through with sand. I hesitated, taking in the gory scope of my task. The wound needed to be clean. I glanced to the waves demurely lapping at the shore. I had nothing to carry the water with, and I knew I would be unable to move Peter all the way down to the shoreline. Deciding that preventing more blood loss was the most important issue, I gathered my composure and began winding the strips of cloth around Peter's torn leg.
Though the process must have been excruciatingly painful, Peter's face remained slack, his eyes stayed shut, and his voice never sounded. After binding his calf, I stumbled away, hands sticky with red. The tang of blood was thick in my nostrils and I stamped down on the urge to be sick. I was away from Peter only long enough to let the tide rinse the blood from my hands, then I was right beside him again. He was barely clinging to life. The sea serpent had severely mauled him (that horrifying event was going to haunt my nightmares) and he had lost so much blood. He needed help. I had none to give him. I had no medicine, no herbs, no supplies for stitching. I couldn't even give him water. He needed a miracle.
Anger, guilt, helplessness, desperation, fear, pain and exhaustion were all at war in my mind, clambering over each other in a bid for dominance. Overwhelmed, I dropped into a sitting position by Peter's shoulder, resting my hand on his chest. I closed my eyes, though I refused to give in to sleep. Whenever the wind blew in our direction, it carried with it the awful stench of smoke and death.
"Peter! Edmund!"
My head jerked up, eyes flying open.
"Peter!"
"Your majesties!"
"Edmund!"
"King Peter! King Edmund!"
I lacked experience in dehydration but I was fairly certain I wasn't so far gone as to start hearing voices after only a single day without water. But how else could I have heard Lucy leading a rescue party? I twisted my head from side to side, attempting to determine which direction the voices were coming from.
"Peter! Edmund! Can you hear me?"
I tried to answer her, but my throat was raw from inhaling the thick smoke and I could only utter a scratchy croak. There, just ahead, beautiful in the dawning light, was Lucy on the beach. She was flanked by a pair of fauns. My tongue darted out to moisten parched lips, and I tried again to call out.
"Luc…" A cough stole the rest of my breath. I lifted my arm, surprised at how heavy it felt, and waved it back and forth to attract attention.
One of the fauns spotted me and pointed me out to the others. Lucy's head whipped around to where he pointed and then she was tearing across the sand toward me. Whether it was her light feet or boundless love for her brothers that carried her to us faster than the fauns, I couldn't say. When she got close enough, she flung herself around my neck, knocking both of us into the sand. I grunted as her weight settled on my sore ribs.
"Oh Edmund!" Her relief was plain in her tone.
"Cordial," I wheezed.
She scrambled up and cocked her head. "What?"
"Cordial," I repeated, though my voice held no more strength than a whisper. "For Peter."
The joyful grin slipped off Lucy's face and was replaced by terror when she looked to Peter. Now that the sun had crested the horizon, I could understand her fear. The light revealed the ghastly state my elder brother was in. Soot was smeared over his face, only making the contrast with his pale skin more severe. The front of his tunic was splattered with crusted blood. And that was all before getting to the grisly injury on his right leg. But Lucy was rightly named Valiant and only grimaced sympathetically at the wound before springing into action.
"What happened?" she asked, even as her fingers deftly unhooked the crystal bottle from her belt.
I didn't answer, held captive by Peter's resemblance to a corpse. Without pause,
Lucy leaned forward, tipping a drop of the precious liquid into Peter's mouth. I had never been on this side of the cordial and now I realized why my siblings always smothered me in crushing embraces after the magic took hold. Because it was nerve wracking to wait. To sit and wait, helpless, watching for signs of life. Wondering if this would be the time the miracle doesn't happen. The cordial could cure any wound with a single drop. But it could not restore life to the dead.
My gaze flickered between Lucy and Peter. The fauns trotted up, hands going up to cover their mouths as they took in the scene. I didn't even spare a glance to identify them. I couldn't. My focus was solely on Peter. Seconds dragged by without change. Doubt clouded my mind, masquerading as the certainty that Peter had finally succumb to his injuries and Lucy was just too late.
Peter's gasp, accompanied by his blue eyes finding mine, quickly banished the darkness from my thoughts. Lucy didn't wait for him to sit up. She threw herself across him as he lay prone in the sand, tucking her head into that special place between his chin and his shoulder where she fit just right, as if it had been made for her. Peter's arms automatically came around her, though he was blinking sluggishly, trying to gain his bearings after coming so close to the brink of death.
"Hullo," I greeted stupidly, my usual wit impaired by my immense relief and gratitude.
"Edmund," Peter breathed, gaze warming with enough unabashed love that I had to look away.
That was typical Peter. He felt things truly and passionately, and saw no reason to hide any of it.
"Peter, Peter, Peter," Lucy chanted, hugging him tightly one last time before sitting back on his recently healed legs. "Thank Aslan we found you!"
"Yes, how did you find us? Where are we?" I asked hoarsely.
"Well, it was the mermaids. They came to the Cair and woke us all up to tell us of how you'd been attacked and then captured and about how those awful pirates used some kind of dark magic to take you far away." Lucy launched into her explanation, chatting without pause for breath, as was her habit.
"If we're so far away, how did you get here so fast?" I wondered.
"The naiads. I didn't even know there were any but the mermaids went to them and asked them to come from the depths up to the surface and when they did, they are quite beautiful by the way, I asked them if they would be able to help me find you. They said they would. Well, actually, they don't speak but they nodded and almost left without us because they forgot we couldn't swim."
"Narnia hasn't got any ships for traveling across the sea," I objected. "Our boat was completely smashed when we got here."
Lucy tutted at my ignorance. "That's because you didn't have the naiads helping you. They're very powerful and completely in tune with the sea. They were able to carry our boat through the waves and guide us here. We will have to find some way to repay them because it was very hard for them to do that since this is such a wicked place. They could feel the evil here but they brought us anyway. They were so wonderful!" Her face shifted. "We could see the fire. It was terrible not knowing what that meant. I didn't know if you two were safe." Her expression brightened again. "But now I know you are and I'm so happy." She beamed at the pair of us.
Peter lifted his torso, wrapping his arms around Lucy. "So am I." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before twisting to glance at me. "But Ed's in need of your cordial."
"No, I'm not!" I protested.
With ease that was completely unfair, Peter somehow had the strength and balance to not only stand from his sitting position, but to lift Lucy with him. She giggled at him and he set her gently on her feet. They towered over me now, staring down with pity in their eyes.
"Edmund, I think you do need it," Lucy said sincerely. "You're a mess."
I surveyed my own appearance. My outfit was a complete loss. There would be no saving the garment, what with the holes in the shoulders from harpy claws, and the missing bottom hem that I'd used for Peter's bandages, or the various little tears the trees had ripped, not to mention the green smudges of seaweed stains, and the singed edges from the fire, or the sand coating the entire thing. I contemplated whether the punishment would be less severe if I showed up in front of Susan in my nothing but my breeches rather than this abused outfit. My only consolation was that Peter's clothes were worse. Along with enough sand to rival mine, his also bore the marks of being shipwrecked and then hunted and then running for his life through an evil jungle. On top of that, his shirt was stained with werewolf blood and the right leg of his pants had been shredded by sea serpent fangs. The reminded of that horrible event twisted my stomach and I shuddered at the memory of rain stinging my skin, the scent of fresh blood, of Peter's tortured screams-
"Edmund."
Peter's calm voice snapped me back to the present moment.
"I'm alright," I insisted.
Lucy hesitated, looking between me and Peter. Peter crossed his arms, drawing himself up to appear intimidating, as he so often did in the throne room in front of visiting dignitaries.
"No, you're not."
"Yes, I am," I repeated, scrambling to get to my feet so as not to seem so small next to him.
The sand wasn't stable and it slipped out from beneath my boots, leaving me to fall into an undignified heap, which was not at all helpful to the presentation of my case. Peter's snort and Lucy's muffled chuckle didn't help either. When I finally managed to stand straight, I lifted my chin challengingly.
"See, I'm perfectly healthy."
Peter locked his eyes on mine and didn't look away, even as he recited my list of injuries, beginning with the strikes to the face that the pirates had given me, and ending with my adverse reaction to the smoke, as evidenced by my scratchy voice. I blinked at him in amazement. He had left nothing out, including my dehydration, and even the cut on my palm for which he was not present when I received it. My mother hen of a brother was finely tuned to me and had the uncanny ability to notice every single detail about my wellbeing.
"That does sound serious," Lucy agreed, reaching for the cordial.
"It's no such thing," I insisted. "Just a few bumps and bruises. I'll be fine in a week or so."
Peter's brows drew together. "What concerns me are those ribs."
Lucy stepped forward, holding out the cordial. I put my hand on hers, pushing it down. "We should save it for when we need it most."
Peter gave me a long, measuring look. I stared back, unflinching. Finally, he reluctantly nodded.
"But only on the condition that you see the healers as soon as we get back to the Cair," he stipulated.
"Of course," I quickly agreed.
"And follow all of their instructions," Peter added sternly.
That was a promise I could not make so easily. But I knew it would be the only way to appease him so I agreed to that as well, dooming myself to all sorts of ridiculous regimens such as week long bed rests, and a steady diet of soup and honeyed pears. I never understood why Dama, Cair Paravel's leading doe expert on healing herbs, insisted on prescribing honeyed pears.
"Last chance to back out, Ed," Lucy warned, preparing to clip the bottle back to her belt.
I considered it. It was a tempting solution. But still, I shook my head.
"Alright then." The cordial was secured. "We should be getting back," Lucy reminded, turning on her heel and leading the way back down the beach. "The boat's just over here."
The fauns followed her and I made to as well, only Peter snagged my elbow before I could take more than a step. I turned to him, curious.
"Edmund-" he started.
"I know. I should learn to do as I'm told." I rolled my eyes fondly.
Peter looked surprised. "Well, yes. But also…" his expression softened, "thank you."
"See here, there's no need for that," I told him gruffly, though I'm sure he could see the corners of my mouth lifting.
Peter's hand left my elbow and his arms twitched toward me. However, he dropped them to his sides before they made contact. "I suppose you're excused from hugging until your ribs heal."
I nodded vehemently, never more grateful for an injury. A sly smile stole over Peter's lips and then he had an arm curled around my shoulders, drawing me to his side.
"But there's more than one way to hug a king," he crowed.
I made a half-hearted attempt to squirm out of his grip, but mostly, I relished in the sensation of his nearness, his laughs echoing in my ears.
Guest: I hope you liked this chapter! :) There's probably one left to go.
ChildofGod: Yes, I am a ghost. That's why it's taking so long for me to update. These incorporeal fingers are a pain to type with ;) Ooh! I will take the LotR vibes as a huge compliment! As you can see, I do enjoy kidnapping, chasing, attacking, and mauling these precious Pevensie brothers-but I draw the line at baking them into crisp waffles! A writer has to have some boundaries, right? *clinks ghostly glass of wine with yours* Cheers!
NarniaGirl: Well, there's a difference between intentional 'plot' suspense and unintentional 'waiting for the author to get her rear in gear and update the fic already' suspense. I'm the one who should be sorry-this is your requested story after all :) Poor Peter was out of his mind with blood loss-seriously, suggesting that Edmund leave him behind, while a noble sentiment, was a completely batty thing to say! Because, as you pointed out, Edmund never does as he's told ;)