Chapter 20


Peter sat with his back against the Stone Table, staring at the carving of Aslan. He had already sent Lucy away; he wanted to be alone with his faults, not be comforted. And he had oh so many mistakes to contemplate.

How had everything gone so wrong? From the moment Peter found himself on hands and knees on the floor of the Professor's spare room, he had been lost. Peter had tried to be the High King, even in England; act like a king, even as a schoolboy. Instead, he knew he had let his feelings of inadequacy and doubt tear him apart, slowly and painfully. Was it his fault? Had he done something wrong in ruling Narnia that Aslan would send him away, banish him from his kingdom?

Peter pulled his knees to his chest as he forced himself to analyze his emotions and actions in the past year. He had felt betrayed by Aslan, no longer felt that he could trust the Lion. He did not understand why he had been exiled. And, most of all, if he trusted that Aslan had a good reason for that exile, Peter would have had to relinquish control over his own life and destiny.

So Peter stopped trusting Aslan and began trusting only his siblings. But then Lucy and Edmund kept their faith in the Lion, and Susan drifted away from all of them, and Peter, having lost faith in the most important figure in his life, found it all too easy to lose faith in his siblings as well. Soon Peter trusted no one but himself and nothing but his own ability.

Head bowed, Peter squeezed his eyes shut. Where had that gotten him? He had tried to be High King in his own power, and forgotten entirely what being High King meant. What his friend and mentor, King Lune of Archenland, had explained so long ago:

A king must be a servant to his country. And, as High King, you have a greater responsibility; because you must further serve those kings and queen who came before, those who will come after. And, most importantly, you must serve those who rule beside you. You must put all before yourself, as Aslan has done. And, if you do so, you truly will be a magnificent king.

During his reign, Peter had followed this advice as best he could, and prospered for it. But, once back in England, Lune's wise words had faded in his memory and Peter no longer served others. Only himself.

Peter rested his forehead against his knees. How King Lune would be ashamed to see him now! Instead of serving the Narnians, Peter had led them into a massacre in his quest to assert his power. He had not served Caspian, refusing to believe that the Telmarine was king under him. Most damningly, Peter knew he had not served or supported his siblings. Instead, he had argued with Susan; he refused to trust Lucy's faith. And Edmund…Edmund he had hurt most of all; he had ignored and pushed away and thrown angry, hurtful words at his cherished little brother, the brother who had never been anything but loyal and loving. That he had hurt Edmund…

The High King's accusing rumination was interrupted by the same voice that had forced his examination of conscience. Peter could not stop his head from snapping up, or his back from stiffening in fear, when Caspian softly called out, "King Peter?"

Breathing in to steady his nerves, Peter stood and turned to face his fellow king. The two young men looked at each other uncomfortably for a long moment before Peter took the first, shaky step to reconciliation. "Just Peter, please." Acknowledgement of Caspian's equal rank: something he should have done long before.

Caspian let his eyes fully meet Peter's and nodded in returned respect. "Have you seen Ed…King Edmund? Queen Susan and Queen Lucy thought he had gone to rest, but he was not in his room. I want…I need to apologize to him."

Peter frowned. It was never a good thing when Edmund went off on his own, angry. Things tended to get broken when Edmund's temper snapped. That, or mass slaughter of the enemy, but since the Telmarines were not there yet, Peter would bet on things getting broken. "We might have to track him. He went that way, right?" He gestured toward the side tunnel. The other king nodded, wincing as he remembered Edmund's face before he stormed away. The two walked down the tunnel, each carrying a lit torch. They kept their eyes to the ground at first, trying to follow the faint prints Edmund had left in the dust. The silence between them was tense, filled with pained memories of their pride-filled deeds and harsh words.

It was Caspian who finally broke the quiet. "Your majesty – Peter – I must apologize to you, as well."

Peter was already shaking his head. "You don't need to apologize for speaking the truth."

"It was not the truth," insisted Caspian, frowning at the High King's lifeless tone. The light of the torches highlighted the distraught shame in Caspian's face at the thought that he had put that tone there.

Looking at the ground before him, Peter ignored Caspian's distress. "I…I should be the one apologizing. I've not been acting much like a High King." His voice lowered as he whispered to himself, "I've made so many mistakes."

He did not realize that Caspian had heard the last until the young man firmly answered, "And I shouldn't have expected otherwise, shouldn't have been disappointed that you weren't straight out of the stories of my childhood."

Peter looked over at Caspian, brows furrowed. "What?"

Caspian's mouth quirked in a small smile that did not match his guilt-filled eyes. "Lesson Nine." At Peter's questioning look, Caspian explained. "Everyone makes mistakes. A king is no different."

"A king's mistakes have greater consequences, though," Peter pointed out despondently.

There was a pause, then Caspian spoke again. "I think…whoa!" Peter's hand automatically shot out to steady Caspian as the young man stumbled. "Thank you, I…" Even in the dim light, it was obvious that Caspian's face had gone pale. "Stars in heaven!"

Peter shifted his gaze to see what had shocked the other king so badly. His breath left his body and the torch in his hand fell to the ground. Caspian had not tripped over a fallen rock; he had tripped over a body. A horribly familiar, horribly still body. "Oh Aslan, Edmund!"

.

The High King fell to his knees beside the limp figure, raising a slight puff of dust. A shaky hand reached for a pulse, and Peter frowned at the thready heartbeat he found. "Caspian, get Lucy here, now!" The words had barely left his lips before Caspian shot off with speed he probably did not know he had.

With a calm that surprised him, Peter checked Edmund for spinal injuries before gently shifting him to his back. Peter tried not to let Edmund's ragged and irregular breathing distract him from checking for other injuries, but he found himself having to steady his own breathing. You can't help Edmund if you pass out, idiot. "Come on, Ed, wake up." There wasn't a flicker to indicate that the younger boy heard, no flutter of his dark lashes. Wake up, please!

Peter was fairly certain that he stopped breathing at all when he felt Edmund's left shoulder and his hands came away dark and slick. He swore as he quickly began applying pressure, wishing he wasn't still wearing his armor so that he could use his shirt; but he did not dare let up, not with the amount of blood Edmund must have already lost. Taking off his armor and shirt would take time…time which Edmund might not have to spare.

Armor.

Peter blinked as he realized his hands were not hindered by the borrowed leather he would expect Edmund to be wearing. Why isn't he wearing armor? He never takes it off after battle until everything is settled. Why would he take on a werewolf unarmored? Without armor, the werewolf's claws had torn right through his tunic, bandage, flesh, straight into bone. Peter choked on air when he replayed the list in his mind and looked again at the wound that bled beneath his fingers. Though both bloodstained, there were clearly two cloths visible in the dim torchlight.

Peter focused closer, feeling the wound even as he tried to hold Edmund's life in his body. The scratches from the werewolf were deep, but the bleeding came more from a different, deeper wound. Peter sucked in a strangled breath as the evidence congealed into a clear image. Edmund had been injured before the fight at the Stone Table; he had been hurt during that blasted raid and Peter had let him fight a bloody werewolf.

I didn't know! How could I not have noticed, why didn't I check? Peter's stomach turned. How far had he fallen that he did not ensure his brother had not been hurt, not even after those terrifying moments when Edmund had chased after Miraz by himself? It's my fault. "I'm sorry, Ed. Oh Aslan!"

Edmund did not react. Not to Peter's continued pleas for him to wake up, not to the pain from the pressure on his wound. How long has he been lying here, bleeding? How long has his life been draining away while I wallowed in my guilt? Peter grit his teeth. No more guilt, not now, not until everything was over and Edmund and the girls and Narnia were safe. No more lashing out; that had already done enough damage. For now, he had to shove it aside, shove all his emotions aside. For Narnia, for his family.

.

Peter was not sure how much time passed as he desperately tried to stem the flow of blood, desperately pleaded for his brother to hold on to life, to not leave him. He went weak with relief when he heard the pounding of feet and the shouting of their names. "Over here!"

In a flurry of motion, Lucy was kneeling by Edmund's side, tilting his head so that she could let a precious drop of fireflower cordial fall into his mouth. This was the moment Peter always hated most: the waiting, the wondering if it would work this time. There was movement beneath his hands and Peter lifted them away, stained red with blood.

Relief cut through the air as the group – Susan had come with Lucy and Caspian – saw that the wound was closing. Edmund's breathing deepened and steadied, and in only a few moments his eyelashes began fluttering.

With a groan, Edmund opened his eyes, blinking as he took in the concerned faces surrounding him. "What…?"

Lucy busily checked the wound, making sure it had healed completely. "How do you feel?"

Falling into patient-mode – a situation he was sadly good at – Edmund automatically answered her question. "Tired," he croaked, before licking his cracked lips. "Thirsty and tired."

"I'm not surprised," commented Susan darkly. She was staring at Peter's blood-soaked hands and sleeves, all-too aware as to how they got that way. "You lost a lot of blood."

Caspian looked confused. "Doesn't the cordial…?"

"It heals wounds almost instantly," answered Edmund as Lucy and Peter helped him sit up. He listed to the side, leaning against Peter's shoulder. "Takes longer to replace blood." As they had once learned the hard way.

"Which is why you are going straight to bed."

There was no arguing when Susan spoke in that tone. Of course, Edmund tried anyway. "But…" It took one glare to stop him before he started. The young king sighed. "Can I have some water first?"

"You will be having plenty of fluids, don't worry." When both girls began mothering, it was easier just to give up. Though that usually didn't stop Edmund, this time he just nodded his assent.

Peter could feel his brother's exhaustion and knew they needed to get Edmund to bed before he fell asleep sitting up. The High King bit his lip. While he could fairly easily help Edmund walk to their chamber, perhaps it was time he stopped trying to do everything himself. "Caspian, could you help me help him up?"

The three pairs of raised eyebrows – Edmund was already half-asleep – at Peter's calm, polite tone would be a comical picture if it did not highlight his past failings. Wordlessly, Lucy moved from Edmund's side, letting Caspian slip in. Together, the two older kings helped their younger companion to his feet and hung his arms around their shoulders. "Nothing wrong with my legs," complained Edmund, but he didn't struggle against their help. Mostly because it was obvious that, though they weren't injured, his legs probably couldn't hold him steady at the moment.

The girls went ahead, Lucy to fetch water and Susan to set up the mattress for Edmund (Peter was rather certain both he and Caspian would be missing their blankets by the time they got there). That left three silent kings to walk slowly through the How. None spoke: Edmund, because he was busy trying not to sleep-walk, Caspian because he was still uncomfortable about recent revelations, and Peter because he was preoccupied with trying to focus on his steps instead of his failure to protect his brother.

Even before they entered the kings' chamber, Lucy was already pressing a canteen at Edmund. Grateful, Edmund freed his right arm from Caspian to accept the water. "Slowly, Ed. You don't want to choke," scolded the young queen, but it was ruined by her smile. Despite her work with the healers, Lucy had never liked having to treat her brothers, particularly for life-threatening injuries. It made reprimanding them for being careless with their health hard when she was so relieved that they had lived.

As Peter helped Edmund to his mattress – he was right: all the blankets had been appropriated – Susan fussed and Lucy plied Edmund with water. Seeing that the attention was bordering on overwhelming, Peter opened his mouth to try and disperse the crowd. He was interrupted by Lucy's exclamation: "Oh! We should tell the others that Ed's alright!" She elaborated for a confused Peter's sake. "We left Trumpkin to tell the Narnians and keep them calm."

Edmund, who had been swiftly drifting off, opened his eyes quickly. "Did he tell Hwella I was hurt?"

Peter began wracking his brain, trying to remember if he knew any Hwella; but Caspian's eyes just widened. "I will go tell her you are fine," he said and dashed out of the room.

"And we should let you sleep," declared Susan, looking pointedly at Lucy and Peter, and pressing a swift kiss on Edmund's hair. Lucy hugged Edmund tightly before following her sister out of the room.

.

Peter started to move to leave as well – he desperately needed to wash his hands of the smeared and drying blood – but something stopped him. A day before, even a few hours before, he would not have noticed it. Now, though, his senses were once more highly attuned to his brother, and he saw the slight flicker of unease in Edmund's eyes. Peter paused; he realized, almost with a jolt, that Edmund needed him to stay.

He had needed him for a while. Peter thought back, remembering how he had been too caught up in his own misery to help Edmund as the younger boy struggled to readjust to England. How Edmund had been alone among Telmarines for months. How he had collapsed in the dark tunnel, slowly bleeding his life away without any hope of aid. Edmund had been alone; alone for far too long.

No more. Peter, rather awkwardly, set himself on his own mattress next to his brother. Edmund looked at him in confusion; Susan had been very clear in her wish that Edmund be left to his rest. Not to mention that Caspian was out among the Narnians, and Edmund likely expected Peter to be rushing to assert his authority. Not this time. Peter casually lay back on his mattress, head resting on one arm. "I…I think I'll stay here until you fall asleep. Make sure you don't go wandering off."

The surprise and happiness in Edmund's eyes at the old, overused joke was heartbreaking. Peter had not realized how much strain Edmund had been under due to Peter's actions until it disappeared from his face. The older king looked away from his brother. After everything Peter had done, just a few soft, caring words, just a hint of unselfishness, was enough to bring a look of joy to Edmund's countenance. It wasn't right.

A thin hand gently took Peter's free one, squeezing lightly. Looking back, Peter could only smile weakly at Edmund's questioning glance. The smile seemed to be enough to reassure the younger king, at least in his tired state. Still, their hands stayed clasped, even as Edmund drifted into an exhausted, healing sleep. Only when his brother's breathing deepened did Peter slip his hand away.

Peter grimaced at the red stain he left on Edmund's palm. It seemed too much a symbol of his sins: blood on his hands staining his brother through association. Peter knew full well that Edmund would take the failure of the raid as his own fault, no matter that the blame was entirely Peter's.

"I'm sorry, Ed," Peter whispered aloud, despite knowing his brother could not hear him. He looked away, taking in a deep breath as he stood to his feet. Having fulfilled his intention to stay with Edmund until he fell asleep, it was time for Peter to leave. He had to wash his hands.