AN: My thanks go to all those who reviewed. You guys (and girls) rock! I'm sorry for the mystery, but I have every intention of letting this unravel slowly, so it may be quite a long fic. Besides, slightly insane Edmund is too much fun to write. Reviews, as always, are very appreciated.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Well, the plot is mine, but at the moment it's shaping up to look like quite the B Grade horror movie, and I'm sure that Lewis wouldn't want to own that. (Note to self: less horror, more angst.)

The next morning, Edmund woke up with a crick in his neck and a general feeling of nausea. His head hurt and his shoulders ached. With a weary sigh, the young boy dragged himself to his feet, shielding his face from the bright glare of the sun. He noticed, not without a shock, that he had fallen asleep on the floor, if the body imprint on the rug was anything to go by. Shuffling to the door, he threw it open and immediately lurched on to the frame.

"Say, Ed? Are you alright?" Peter's voice was in his ear, and Peter's arm was around his shoulder, pulling him from the doorway and supporting him, somewhat clumsily. "Are you alright?" he repeated.

Edmund looked up, ignoring the blood that rushed to his head, and feebly said:

"Of course. W-why wouldn't I be?" He scowled slightly, as he noticed the slurred tone.

Peter dragged Edmund back into the room and deposited him gently on the bed. Letting go of his brother, he grabbed a chair and leant back, arms folded, regarding his brother with careful interest.

"Edmund," he said, voice just a bit louder then he normally used.

The younger boy looked at the floor, making no sign that he had heard.

"Edmund." Even louder.

If possible, the boy's shoulders slumped even more.

"Ed - mund." Peter pronounced each syllable with a low growl.

"What!" Edmund's head shot up, looking his brother full in the face with a customary scowl.

When blue and brown eyes met, Peter felt a shock go through his whole system. Jumping subconsciously in the chair, the older boy's eyes widened.

"Ed..." he murmured.

His brother's eyes were wide, tortured, guilt-wracked. He looked as though he hadn't slept in a few years. The eye-contact lasted for only a few seconds, before it was broken, leaving a confused Peter and a self-conscious Edmund. The amount of emotion in those usually cheerful eyes left Peter breathless.

"Edmund," he said, realising that he sounded rather timid, "what's going on?"

"I - I don't know," said Edmund, bowing his head and placing it in his hands. "I keep blacking out. I don't remember anything..."

Peter was confused. Very confused. He tapped his brother's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting motion and tried to get him to raise his head. "We'll sort it out, Edmund."

"Yeah."

"You'll see. You'll be fine."

Silence. Peter got to his feet and began pacing the room. Obviously, what Edmund was going through was mental. But how was he supposed to isolate the problem? He wasn't a bleeding psychiatrist!

"You - you know I'm sorry. Don't you?" The sound of Edmund's voice breaking the uncomfortable silence shocked Peter from his reverie and caused him to rivet his attention upon his shaking brother. Wait! Shaking? Edmund never shook. Not even in battle. No, something was definitely wrong.

"Sorry?" said Peter slowly, processing the words. "Sorry for what?"

"For everything," was the sighed reply.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, Edmund," said Peter confidently. "Unless, of course, you mean the time you put bugs in my helmet."

Peter's attempt at lightening the mood wasn't entirely wasted, as Edmund emitted a weak chuckle. The chuckling escalated, as Edmund lowered his head, his shoulders shaking slightly.

Peter smiled. Maybe his little brother was just overworked.

The chuckling was all out laughing now. Peter's expression grew worried, as the laughter took on a manic tone. Edmund's shoulders were shaking furiously, and his hands were clenching and unclenching. Moving closer, Peter (in a move that was quickly becoming familiar) grasped his brother's shoulders, forcing him to look up.

Edmund looked up, tears streaming down his face. His teeth were biting down hard upon his nether lip, drawing blood, and his eyes were wider then Peter had ever seen them - a silent plea for help. The laughter continued.

"Edmund!" Shake. Shake. "Stop laughing!"

"Cant... stop... laughing," Edmund cried, his voice sounding strangled and strangely somber, when compared to the shrieking laughter between each word.

Peter was no longer confused. He was panicked. Releasing his brother's shoulders, Peter backed towards the door, unsure of how to handle this situation.

"Stop!" he shouted, thoroughly worried. Was his baby brother going insane? "Please!"

Just as suddenly as the laughter began, it ceased, and Edmund slumped forward, hitting the ground with a loud: Crack! Peter blinked, taking in the motionless form of his little brother and the now eerie silence.

"Edmund?" his voice sounded hoarse from his former yelling, as he shuffled over to his brother and knelt beside him. He touched his shoulder tentatively.

The silence was becoming unbearable.

Edmund didn't move. He didn't even breathe, as far as Peter could ascertain, and that fact made the High King's heart beat faster in worry. He turned the younger King over, on to his back, and let out a strangled gasp.

Edmund's eyes were still open, glazed over in that chilling look from the previous evening. What really scared Peter, however, was the thin trail of blood leaking from the younger boy's mouth. Peter could only hope that it was the result of the gnawing upon his lip... but a chilling pressure in Peter's heart told him otherwise. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Peter's own heart felt heavy as lead, as he jumped from the young boy's side and dashed out of the room, yelling for Lucy and her blessed cordial.