Sorry for the wait. I finally got over my writer's block. I need to give you guys a little warning, this chapter is a little gruesome. I may bump the rating, so let me know what you guys think. Remember to review!

Thanks to the fabulous Alice and Victoria for all their support and advice. Thanks to my wonderful beta, Shadow. And, thanks to Cassady, for her fabulous knowledge of the English language.

Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia belongs to C.S. Lewis and Walden Media. Not me.

Negotiations

Chapter Five

The sun rose from the horizon and began to spread its warmth throughout the land while whispers shot through the camp like wild fire in an open field, all about what their king had planned in the hours ahead. Under Miraz's orders, the entire army was to bare witness to a demonstration by the king himself in the center of the campsite. Although very little was known by the soldiers of the young man suspended there, his Narnian garb gave the soldiers reason enough to shoot dirty glares and spit at him as they passed. They all knew that the assembly would concern the Narnian.

Miraz shoved the tarp from his path viciously and marched toward his destination with a confident stride. His self-assurance radiated off of him and began to infect those around him. Miraz was giddy with excitement because he had never been presented with an opportunity like this before and was not about to let it go to waste.

The malicious tyrant spotted his prey and did not even bother to choke down his mirth as he advanced. The proud Narnian king looked utterly pathetic. Though asleep, his body was tense and his skin had washed out to a ghostly pale. Dark circles had taken shape below his sunken eyes and Edmund's body shook against the restraints in trembles. He had sunken down into the bonds which had peeled away the tender flesh on his slender wrists.

Miraz placed himself before the young man and faced the base camp, taking note of the gathering crowd. The Telmarine king began to tap his foot as irritation set in. With uneasy expressions and rolling stomachs, the soldiers took their time filing in for the meeting. His army slowly collected themselves and joined their king in a big circle around the large platform and the boy suspended from it; a little too slowly for Miraz's taste. Tired of waiting, Miraz decided it was time to begin.

Casting a glance at Glozelle, Miraz turned his full attention to the adolescent king at his mercy. Drawing his hand back, Miraz's open palm connected with the sleeping captive's face once again. The blow snatched Edmund from his dreamless slumber, and, despite his bewilderment, he knew that Miraz was ready to follow up on his previous statement.

"Men, it has come to my attention that you do not understand our predicament." Miraz's voice thundered. "Our delicate peace has been threatened by a force we had long believed extinct."

"Narnians," the tyrant hissed with such contempt that it made Edmund's blood boil. "Have risen from the dark contours of the woods to take what belongs to us." Miraz paused and turned to Edmund with a sinister stare. The dark-haired boy hated this sense of vulnerability for brought back too many distant, frozen memories.

"And I refuse to let them go unpunished," Miraz droned on. However, Edmund had stopped listening. Miraz still held the audience on edge, but had yet to realize the wandering mind of his prisoner. Miraz twisted around dramatically and his eyes caught Edmund's instantly in a deadlock. The Telmarine king's smug grin became more menacing with every step toward the young monarch.

"Every last one shall receive that chastisement, including their worthless, traitor king!" Miraz shouted the last word and emphasized it with a punch to Edmund's unguarded abdomen. The young man's eyes shot open wide like spot lights in surprise, but not from pain. He had seen the blow coming, that he expected, but Miraz's words stuck in the back of his mind. They tumbled around inside his mind, stinging when they hit the inside of his skull.

The words had distracted Edmund and he hadn't seen the next hit launched toward him. The striking blow to his already bruising stomach sent a thrill of agony running through his body in a relentless rush. His back arched and a breathless gasp escaped his lips when another punch hit the spot a third time. His body pulled itself back instinctively, giving Edmund a vivid reminder of his restraints. A fourth hit resounded in a deafening crack that echoed through the Narnian's ears with a terrible ring.

Miraz had heard it too and was beside himself with satisfaction. The boy seemed to be more fragile than his newborn son. Edmund's pale face was drawn in a mixture of scattered emotions. Fury. Pain. Anguish. Vulnerability. A multitude of expressions that had all invaded Edmund's face in a matter of seconds, no matter how desperate he had been to conceal those feelings.

Miraz, grinning form ear-to-ear, twisted around to find General Glozelle amongst the crowd. The Telmarine king called out to him in a sugar-coated tone, "General, I believe our dear guest is ready for the next round. If you would please…" The monarch trailed off, not finishing his statement and making the area dense with suspense. Nonetheless, Glozelle nodded his head solemnly and set out to fulfill his superior's sinister request.

King Miraz waited patiently for Glozelle, relishing in the attention he was receiving from his soldiers. Their reactions were exactly what he had anticipated. The boy was the perfect leverage to get the men's' attention.

Edmund was watching the soldiers as well, and he despised the very sight of their faces as they watched on. The looks of pity were utterly disgusting. The Narnian king was not ignorant to the sins they had committed on his subjects. Edmund knew they had slaughtered his people for their own selfish greed. No, he had no need for these monsters' sympathy.

Suddenly, Glozelle burst from the crowd and passed a long, thin object into Miraz's open palm.

Circling Edmund with slow, deliberate steps, Miraz looked remotely like a starving vulture, closing in on its defenseless prey. From behind, Edmund felt someone rip his shirt and strip it from his body, exposing his bare chest and back.

Vulnerability washed over Edmund when the wind licked at his spine. Miraz had regained his stern façade and leaned forward to whisper roughly in the boy's ear. "Be prepared, Little King."

Standing back up and using his hands to pat the wrinkles from his attire, Miraz began to shake the long, leather strip out to the side, removing the creases that lined the whip from underuse. Edmund, bracing himself for the impact, pulled his eyes shut and frantically bit his tongue.

The whip cut through the air and hit Edmund's back with a resounding crack. A welt began to rise on the raw flesh and thin beads of blood seeped to the surface with every strike. The pain, blinding as it was, subdued itself quickly and made it easier to contain the howls building in the boy's chest.

Without a warning, Miraz's whip struck Edmund's skin over and over again, so many times that Edmund lost count. The lashes ripped through the skin on his back relentlessly, sending a shock of throbbing pain with every hit.

With a deep breath, Miraz stopped the torment and was quite pleased with his work. The young king's back resembled a map, traced on his pale flesh with scarlet trails of fresh blood that had been drawn from his open wounds.

Edmund, though exhausted and numb with distress, knew that he had won the battle. He had not let a single sound escape, no sign of defeat or surrender was present on his beaten body.

Miraz noticed this too, and was not about stop until he forced the miserable brat to squeal.

"It appears that I have chosen the wrong method. Perhaps, something a little more…barbaric is what you need." Miraz's twisted expression grew into a confident and maddening smirk. To both Edmund and Miraz, the crowd no longer existed. They only saw each other, like two gladiators engaged in a pitiless clash to the death. They both refused to back down until nothing remained.

Miraz abruptly stormed off the platform and disappeared into the nearby stables.

Edmund was left there, chained to the platform, to await whatever fate Miraz had in store for him. He wished he could believe that his siblings were on their way. Edmund wanted to think that they would come rushing into camp with swords raised any minute and rescue him, but he knew that this was just a stupid fantasy. Miraz was sure to have done something to guarantee that they would not come for him.

He longed to feel Susan's comforting touch that always managed to make him feel loved and welcome. Edmund yearned to hear Lucy's carefree laugh that lifted his spirits whenever he was near her. But, most of all, the young king wanted to be with his magnificent older brother, organizing combat strategies to save the nation that they owed so much to.

Forcing his mind to change course, Edmund's gaze shifted to a lone tree in the distance. Its branches were bare, despite the wonderful summer weather, and the leaves had long since abandoned it. Slowly, the tree was withering away, but Edmund looked on at it with a certain fondness. He knew the ache the tree must be feeling. Isolated and slowly fading away while your brothers and sisters flourished and blossomed in the warm air. A faint smile crept onto his features when the wind made an attempt to blow the tree down and the tree didn't budge. The tree was fighting back, and Edmund realized it would win, eventually.

Miraz chose that moment to emerge from the stables with a red, burning rod in hand. Miraz nearly ran to the platform, a wild, animalistic look to his eyes. He chuckled quietly at his own thoughts and presented the object to his captive. It was a brand, the tool that farmers and ranchers used to mark their horses. The letter 'M' was positioned on the end and hovering near Edmund's bare chest.

Miraz began to chuckle maniacally as he shoved the brand into the boy's left abdomen. He was shouting to Edmund about how his siblings will always remember who he belonged to, but Edmund had stopped listening. The metal melted his skin and morphed it to a charred black and red. However, Edmund couldn't feel it; his mind was not in the Telmarine campsite any longer.

An icy wind swept across the dungeon, seeping into a ten year-old Edmund's skin and freezing the nervous sweat forming on his brow. Legs flailing and nails digging into the woman's skin, the young boy thrashed about in the witch's grip. The false queen did not falter though and pressed her hand further into Edmund's throat, shoving him into the wall behind him.

She peeled the boy's shirt up gently and retrieved her scepter from Ginnabrik, the dwarf standing to her side. Whispering soothing words in Edmund's ear, the witch proceeded to trace a delicate pattern onto his lower, right abdomen. The design decorated his skin with an intricate 'J' and brought about a burning sensation unlike any fire. A mark appeared on his tender stomach which he swore he would conceal for the remainder of his life.

"Little Prince," Jadis drawled. "I'm simple making it so no one will ever mistake who you belong to and what you've done. Do not fret, My Little Traitor." Her dainty voice froze Edmund to his core at the thought and sent shivers up his spine.

But, as the pain seared through him and her hand began to tighten around his throat, a great roar rumbled from out of nowhere. It shook the room to pieces and embraced the boy in a affectionate hold. The room slowly shattered and faded from view, quickly being replaced by a glorious garden.

Not perturbed by the outrageous change of scenery, Edmund took in a deep, reassuring breath and allowed the flowers' beautiful fragrance to carry him away. He wound through the trees as they danced with him and moved from his path. Arms spread wide like an eagle, he flew through the dream-like wood without a care. No Miraz and no Jadis to be seen.

Suddenly, a radiant glow appeared from between the abundant branches. An unmistakable golden lion emerged from the thick and approached the boy with a warm smile.

"Aslan," Edmund breathed and rushed forward to meet him. He buried his face in the lion's mane and gave a greatly relieved sigh. Aslan chuckled deeply and pulled the boy to face him.

"My child," Aslan addressed Edmund lightly, yet with all seriousness and sincerity in his deep, gold eyes. "I apologize for not coming earlier, but things do become quite hectic. It is time to rest. Sleep now, my son." And with that, Edmund's vision slowly faded and his eye lids became heavier. Little by little Edmund let himself fall back into oblivion with the lion as his guide.

Miraz watched the boy's body slip into the bonds as Edmund fell unconscious. Nevertheless, Miraz was pleased with his effort. Just before Edmund had descended to unconsciousness, a scream had ripped through his throat. The Telmarine king took a step back and admired his work. Blood flowed freely from the boy's torso, staining the rim of his pants, and the large bruise that had decorated Edmund's upper body was an ugly shade of purple. The Narnian king could be killed that night, when the boy was awake to relish in his own demise.

Turning around, King Miraz noticed Glozelle on the platform with a parchment in hand. Written in a messy scrawl, the letter was addressed to King Miraz. Curious, the tyrant snatched the document from his general's hands and tore it open.

"It was delivered only moments ago by a bird flying under Narnian colors. It left before we could even look up, my liege." Glozelle made his statement and took his place within the mob once again.

The soldiers remained silent and still as Miraz read; fearing what would happen if anyone made a sound, or even a movement.

Closing the parchment in one swift motion, Miraz's arrogant smirk disappeared. He hastily departed from the platform and stalked off to his private quarters, leaving the unfortunate, bleeding captive to dangle behind him.

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