This chapter gave me no end of trouble to write! The problem with having all your main characters imprisoned, enchanted, or slowly suffocating is that there is no one left to write through the perspective of. So, although I hate writing through the eyes of OC's, it's incredibly difficult and never seems to work out the way I want it to, I left myself with no other options. Maybe if I stopped nearly killing Edmund every story writing would be easier...

Trebonius stared at the heap of twisted, bloody corpses, fury and horror battling for the upper hand within him. They had been his friends, comrades, and, Lion forbid, perhaps even his rulers; next to him the faun, Metelus, dropped to his knees and was violently ill. Trebonius swallowed back the bile that filled his own throat with some difficulty; it was only by the grace of Aslan that he and Metelus had escaped the slaughter and a wave of guilt swept over him. It was considered a great honour to serve as a guard to Narnia's monarchs, an even greater honour still to be placed in charge of their safety on their journey north, and from the very start he had failed them. Queen Lucy and King Edmund had nearly been killed by giants while he had stood by uselessly, the High King had wandered the moors while he had slept rather than doing his duty as guard, and now this. Now the mountain of dead that had been soldiers under his command; now the terrible fear that he would see the glint of Queen Lucy's fair hair among the twisted bodies, would stumble upon the High King's sword, broken upon the ground, or would see King Edmund lying still and silent, unable even to pass just judgement upon him for his failure. It was better that he had died with his comrades then he should live to see such sorrow.

He turned away, bowing his shaggy head beneath the weight of his grief. There was nothing left save to return to Cair Paravel, report the tragedy and death to the Queen Susan, and pray his own death was merciful. Afterwards he never knew if it was by chance or by the Grace of Aslan that he heard the low, wheezing breath. He turned back, scarcely daring to hope that any could yet be alive in that terrible mountain of death, but Metelus too had heard the sound and was staring with wide, horrified eyes.

He scrabbled through the bloody, twisted bodies, pushing those he could aside until he found himself staring down upon the bloodied, pale face of his king; it was Edmund. His hands shook, more accustomed to wielding an axe or sword than caring for the wounded, as he lifted the boy into his arms and laid him carefully upon the grass of the hillside, kneeling beside him.

"Is he alive?" Metelus asked, hovering near his shoulder, his voice shaking. It was small wonder that he asked, for the only sign of life was the king's ragged laboured breathing, and even that sounded as though it might stop at any moment.

"He is, praise be to Aslan. You know more of healing than I, faun, help him."

"Me?!" Metelus sputtered, hooves shuffling in alarm. "I am no healer!"

"Nor am I," responded Trebonius coldly, rather despising the old faun for his uselessness. "But he is our king and what right have we to call ourselves Narnians if he is to die while we quarrel? We must both do all we can for him."

A hand closed suddenly around his wrist; if Trebonius had time to feel anything other than shock he would have been ashamed of the way he started and nearly toppled over backwards, but he had no time. The king's eyes were open, wide and unfocused, and filled with terror. He clutched weakly at Trebonius' arm, gasping for breath and trying desperately to speak.

"Peter-" it was barely more than breath, scarcely recognisable as a word, but Trebonius knew who it was his king was asking for.

"Edmund?" Metelus bent over him, ignoring any formality of speech in his concern. "Edmund, can you hear me?"

Slowly, painfully the young king nodded, blinking rapidly and trying to focus his eyes on his tutor's face. He released Trebonius' arm in favour of trying to sit up and the satyr pushed him back with a hand on his shoulder.

"You must be still, my king, you have been injured." Whatever Trebonius had expected it most certainly was not the look of stubborn determination that crossed the human's face as he ignored Trebonius' words and continued struggling to push his hand away.

Metelus, obviously more used to this strange behaviour slipped an arm behind his shoulders and held a small flask to his lips. "If you must insist upon being stubborn drink this first," he said quietly and Trebonius frowned at the familiarity and presumption of his address. Very young and injured though he might be he was still a king of Narnia, not merely a wayward pupil for Metelus direct. A moment later Edmund's eyes slid closed and he sagged back against the faun, any trace of resistance gone.

"What have you done?" Trebonius demanded, half drawing his sword.

Metelus sighed and held up the flask. "A simple sleeping draught. Queen Susan gave it to me when she learned I would be accompanying King Edmund; she thought I might have need of it if he became injured or ill and was proving too stubborn for his own good." He unfastened his cloak and wrapped it around the sleeping king. "When next he wakes we must hope he is more inclined to be reasonable."

If he wakes, thought Trebonius grimly as he looked once more towards the pile of bodies.

"Captain, quickly, I think he's waking," The voice sounded worried, hopeful, and vaguely familiar.

Edmund heard the sound of hooves and the clanking of weapons, remembered the thudding sound of a giant's footsteps and the suffocating terror of being buried beneath a crushing weight. He lashed out blindly, past and present blurring, and found himself gasping for breath as the sudden movement seemed to crush the air from his lungs

"Easy, King Edmund," another voice, deeper, harsher. "Breathe slowly. That's it; breathe."

Someone put an arm behind his shoulders and lifted his head; the barely remembered agony returned as the movement shifted broken bones and bruised flesh. Some distant voice cried out in pain.

There was the smell of wine as a flask was held to his lips; memory of blood and the stifling stench of death. He lurched to the side, half choking, fighting the arms that held him as his empty stomach heaved; ribs screaming protest at being so mistreated.

"Please your majesty, you must remain calm." That was the first voice, less calm than the other, but somehow more comforting and familiar. The cup was held to his lips again and this time he managed to drink, coughing as the wine burned his raw throat. "That's it. You must lie still."

He forced his leaden eyelids open and the world swam, strangely out of focus above him, little more than a confused jumbled of greys. He blinked and saw the concerned face of a faun bending over him, the concern slowly giving way to relief. "King Edmund?"

A wave of memory crashed over him; a giant looming over Lucy, hand outstretched to grab her; Peter standing frozen, eyes wide and unfocused; the crushing weight pressing him down and the choking smell of death. He struggled to sit up, fighting the agony and weariness that pulled at his limbs, fighting too the hands that held him down. "Peter! Lucy!"

"Your majesty! Edmund! You must remain calm and lie still. You can be of no help to anyone currently." Edmund found he had no strength to disobey Metelus' voice and lay back reluctantly, staring up at the darkening sky.

"How long?" he asked, even the two, simple words seeming to take much more effort than they should.

"The giant's Queen was murdered yesterday morning and we found you among the dead that same afternoon," that was Trebonius' voice, low and grief filled.

"The dead?"

"Most of the guards were killed; slaughtered before they had the chance even to fight," the satyr captain said slowly, as if the words were heavy on his tongue. "Though I believe the Dogs and Horses are still in the castle; they were not among the dead."

The dead. He remembered the taste of blood and the giants' laughter as they left him to die, trapped beneath the bodies of his guards. He was nearly sick again at the thought, and gritted his teeth with the effort of keeping the nausea at bay. "Peter? Lucy?"

Metelus shook his head, his expression mournful. "There has been no word; we did not find their bodies, so there may yet be hope."

"They aren't dead." Though he wished he could know for certain.

"My king?" Trebonius' voice again and Edmund turned his head with difficulty until he could see him. "We cannot risk staying here longer, the giants may return with more bodies, or to burn those already here. We are too near the city here, but there is a cave, near the base of the hill, on the side behind the city where we are now, I found it late last night, but we could not risk your life by moving you then."

"No." Faun and satyr both stared at him in shock and Edmund had to admit it was an appropriate response. "I refuse to flee while Peter, Lucy, and other loyal Narnians remain trapped within those walls." Though how precisely I plan to help them when I cannot even stand is a mystery to me.

"Forgive me if I speak too boldly, but have you taken leave of your senses?" Metelus crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at Edmund. "I had thought you took my lessons on logic and strategy more to heart."

Edmund closed his eyes and tried to think; it was true that any attempt at a rescue in his current state was inadvisable at best, with disaster being the most likely outcome. They could not hope to fight the giants, but Edmund knew that if he turned his back on the city to ensure his own safety he would betray his duty as king. Something like a plan began to take shape in his mind and he smiled grimly, knowing even his quick-witted tutor could not fault his logic.

"We need aid from Narnia with all speed and neither you Metelus, nor you good captain, is swift enough to reach queen Susan in less than the time we took traveling here. We must send either Phillip or one of the dogs with the account of what has happened here; if you are right in believing them to be alive they will still be in the Lady's stables." He paused to catch his breath and tried to remember more clearly every detail of his visit to the stables the previous morning. "There is a door, small and light enough for us to open, set into the back wall of the courtyard behind the stables. Tomorrow night is the feast, in the confusion of preparation we can slip in and out, undetected."

Metelus frowned, brows drawing together in a bushy, grey line. "And you, my king? Do not think me fool enough to believe you will be content with merely rescuing those in the stables. I have known you too long to believe you will leave without at least news of your royal brother and sister."

"The giants must surely think me dead; I intend to disguise myself as a servant and gather what information I can, and, Aslan willing, rescue my brother and sister. they will not recognise a servant to the Green Lady as a dead Narnian king. " It sounded ridiculously optimistic, even to Edmund himself, but he had to at least try.

"There are two things more would require careful consideration," said the faun slowly, clearly unhappy with the plan, but not daring to defy his king.

"Only two?" Edmund was rather surprised by that.

"We are outside the city gates and they are barred against any save giants." He fell silent and then, a moment later huffed in frustration. "But there have been wagons going in and out all day and doubtless will be tomorrow. I dare say we could slip through undetected if we could climb into the back of one."

To Edmund's surprise it was Trebonius who reminded the faun a moment later that there were two points requiring consideration. Metelus glared at Edmund then, seemingly forgetting that it was his king and not his student that he spoke to. "The second is that you have not the strength to stand."

"I have until dawn to find the strength," Edmund reminded him quietly, making it clear that the matter was not up for debate.

Lucy wasn't sure how long she sat alone in the darkness; she must have slept at some point and woke to find that her limbs were stiff from sitting, huddled against the wall, and she was terribly hungry and thirsty. Still, it was no use dwelling on her troubles when there was nothing she could do about them. She lost track of how many times she slept and woke again, only to find her situation unchanged.

It was terribly dull to sit in the dark, with nothing to do and no way to pass the time more quickly, and Lucy had nearly made up her mind to start exploring the room in hopes of finding a candle when she heard the unmistakable sound of giant's footsteps and the scraping of the bolt on the door being drawn back.

The light that poured into the room nearly blinded her and before her eyes had fully adjusted to it, and before she could do more than blink, the giant had stooped and picked her up again, slightly more gently this time.

"His majesty the King wishes to see you, human," he said, smirking as she tried to wriggle free of his grasp. "Now then, let's have none of that; wouldn't want to hurt yourself, now would you? You humans have such delicate bones." He tightened his grip, as if to emphasise his point and Lucy reluctantly stopped trying to free herself. She remembered all too well that this was the same giant who had struck Edmund so cruelly and silently vowed to insure his death herself the first chance she got. It may not have been a very queenly thought, but it was Susan who was the Gentle, and though Lucy was rarely angry when she was it was terrible to behold.

The giant carried her back into the throne room where they had first met the King and dropped her on the floor at the foot of the dais. He withdrew, bowing into the shadows at the edge of the room and Lucy was left to look up at the King alone. He was seated on his throne, the Queen's next to him was draped in black, and his expression was not one of anger, as Lucy had expected, but rather of glee.

"Well!" he said, with a rather unpleasant laugh. "That worked rather well; my fool of a Queen is dead, and two of Narnia's rulers are safely under my control. Yes," he added when he saw her expression, though how he could distinguish it from such a distance she did not know. "I said two, dear queen. Your brother the High King is by now so deeply enchanted that he has no hope of returning to himself, and as for the other, he is dead."

Lucy bit her lip to keep from crying out. It couldn't be true, yet how could it fail to be true? Edmund, don't be dead, please don't be dead!

"There is no one left to aid you, or your foolish sister in Cair Paravel. My armies will march upon Narnia and take back the land which is rightfully ours."

"You underestimate the strength of our armies," Lucy shot back, hoping her voice did not shake.

The King laughed, shaking the room. "Your armies, dear queen, will not dare to fight us while we hold yourself and the High King as our hostages. If the dear Lady, my heir, has any say in the matter the High King himself may well sign the throne of Narnia over to her without a single drop of blood being spilled; such is her art for enchanting men's minds. And now, for you; you, dear queen will dine with me tonight at the feast, the better to witness what becomes of any who dare stand against me." Lucy shivered at the venom in his words, but set her teeth and would not show her fear openly.

We are Aslan's chosen, and the thought comforted her greatly. He will not forget those he has appointed, nor will he abandon them in their hour of need. She looked up into the cruel, harsh face of the King and smiled sweetly. "You know not what it is you do, nor to Whom you have given offense, but the day will come when you will know Him. That day will be your last." And the King's face paled at the ring of truth in her words.

So, Edmund has a plan, even if it does sound rather impossible; Lucy is eternally trusting of Aslan, the giant King is a despicable creature, and Peter...well, that's a good question. You'll hear all about Peter soon, but first, leave me a review and let me now what you thought. Personally, I didn't like this chapter, JustValiant1717 I know you will probably insist it was brilliant regardless, but I had to sort the mess I made last chaper out somehow and this was the best I could do.

Cheers,

A