Chapter Text
Something bumped into Edmund's boot and he startled, tripping over his own feet as he scrambled out of the water, picturing something horrible and hungry with thousands of teeth. With a muted thump, he landed on his rear in a very unkingly heap. The monster he was so afraid of turned out to be little more than a plank of wood. Recovering from his fright, he gained his feet and retrieved the driftwood. Curious, he inspected his find. The dark wood was smooth and light. Both ends of it were jagged and split, suggesting it had been damaged somehow, perhaps dashed against the rocks near the shore. A length of rope was knotted in the center of it. Instantly he felt his heart stutter. He recognized the knot. Flinging the wood away as if it were a snake liable to strike, he turned on his heel and raced through the sand.
“Peter!” he called, voice odd in the tranquility around him.
He skidded to a stop, the thought coming to him that he could be heading in the wrong direction.
“Peter!” he shouted again, taking the time to scan the beach in front of him.
He spun around, searching the other side for any clues. The sand lay open before him like a polished piece of glass, sleek and undisturbed. Pulse quickening, he moved forward hesitantly. Doubt grabbed his ankles and seemingly moved his body of its own volition and he found himself going the other direction instead. But indecision halted his movement altogether. Which way? Left or right? East or west? He had no way of knowing where his brother was. Or if he was even on this island. What if he hadn’t made it to land? What if he had drowned? What if he-
Edmund's throat closed over, rebelling against his panicked breathing. A coughing fit put a stop to his morbid thoughts, forcing him to take a moment to recover. A cloud passed across the sun as he bent over, bracing his hands on his knees. In the same moment that he regained his breath, the cloud moved aside and the sun embraced him with warmth once more. Slowly, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and silently asked the Great Lion for help.
No thunderous roar echoed across the water. The beach didn’t tremble beneath the weight of those velvet paws. No words whispered through the wind, nor did the sand part to point the way.
But he felt His answer all the same. In the slowing of his racing heart, the calming of his panting breaths, the confidence that washed away his panic. When he opened his eyes, he stepped with new determination. The island was an isolated patch of land in the sea. If he walked long enough, he could cover the entire beach, no matter which direction he started in.
The sand shifted mischievously beneath his boots but he plodded on the best he could, given the circumstances. While keeping alert for any hint as to Peter’s whereabouts, he noticed how this beach was different from Cair Paravel’s. The water here was a deeper blue, the sand whiter. And it was so quiet. There were no mermaids laughing as they splashed through the surf. He had yet to see a single bird, whereas the gulls that frequented the Cair’s white cliffs were bordering on being a nuisance. He couldn’t find any other creatures either. Despite how he looked for turtles and crabs along the shore, stared into the water for fish, or looked to the sky for fowl, it appeared he was alone. Disheartened by that discovery, he allowed himself to become distracted by more gloomy thoughts. Such as how thirsty he was. As he walked, he occasionally felt the crunch of sand grains between his molars and he wondered when it was that he had sampled the beach. Whenever it was, it was involuntary, as he detested sand for being invasive and clingy. Between the sand that had somehow wound up in his mouth, and his struggle through it under the shining sun, his tongue was getting terribly dry. He was fairly certain the water was mocking him too. Stupid sea could keep its salt water to itself for all he cared. As was his habit whenever he was feeling particularly glum, he started counting his aches and scrapes. As preoccupied as he was, it was no wonder that he nearly walked right into the beached corpse of a small sailing boat. The sight of it instantly banished all lesser thoughts from his mind and he clambered onto the wreckage.
“Peter! Pete!”
There wasn’t much to search. The boat was of a simple design, crafted for a swift and pleasurable ride through calm waters. It didn’t surprise him to find it was little more than a pile of matchsticks now. Using a length of rope dangling from the severed mast, he climbed aboard, still calling for his brother. He received no answer. But from his vantage point, he was able to spy a boot sticking out from behind a large rock near the waterline. Without hesitation, he leaped off the boat and went to investigate.
Splashing through the shallows, he quickly found the boot and its owner. Relief swept through him as he took in the sight of his brother. Peter's upper half was slumped uncomfortably across another rock, while his legs floated limply in the water. Not caring that he was soaking his clothes, Edmund knelt next to him, gently shaking his shoulder and saying his name. After a nearly inaudible groan, he roused gradually, eyes blinking sluggishly beneath the tangled strands of his damp hair.
“Thank Aslan,” Edmund breathed. “Hello, Peter.” He grinned.
Peter's gaze took a minute to focus on him but when it did, his eyes widened comically and he yelped, jerking away from Edmund so abruptly that he fell into the water.
“Watch it! You almost brained yourself on that rock,” Edmund warned, pointing behind him to the offending rock that had been a near miss.
With his mouth opening and closing as if on hinges, his eyes alternating between squinting and staring, and his hair a waterlogged mess, he didn’t look kingly or magnificent. But he still looked like Peter which, after knowing him before he was High King, meant Edmund was allowed to enthusiastically laugh at his completely ridiculous expression. And he probably would have kept right on laughing had Peter not reached out to touch him, revealing his bound hands. The chuckles turned sour on Edmund's tongue and he grabbed his wrists, surveying the crude rope and the hastily tied knot that secured it.
“Lion’s mane, Peter. What happened to you?” he muttered, setting to work on undoing the knot.
“Edmund?” he gasped, the single word starved of volume by his tone of disbelief.
“Yes?” he grunted, focused on his task.
“You’re...” The sentence was never completed.
Instead, his hands moved toward Edmund again and he impatiently yanked them back into place. “Hold still. I’ve almost got it.”
For as much as he complained about Edmund never doing as he was told, Peter could hardly be described as obedient himself. No sooner had Edmund put his hands where he wanted them, Peter tried tugging out of his grip again.
“Stop it,” Edmund growled, fingers fighting against the wet fibers of the rope.
The moment he loosened the knot enough to pull it apart, Peter ripped the cord himself when he tried to fling his arms around Edmund. He had just enough warning to employ an effective countermeasure. He sidestepped the intended hug and brought his arm up across Peter's chest to reach his shoulder. Using that point of contact as an anchor, he managed to push Peter down into a sitting position on the closest rock. Taken off guard, he was easily maneuvered. He stared up at him with a look of astonishment so intense, Edmund began squirming self-consciously.
“What?” he finally demanded.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Peter said.
“Where did you think I was?”
“At the bottom of the ocean,” was Peter’s candid reply.
Edmund blinked, nonplussed. “Oh.” He quickly shook off the thought. “You know, maybe you should have been named King Peter the Blunt,” he quipped.
“It’s true, Ed,” Peter insisted. “When I saw that wave - and then you were just...gone.”
Edmund shuddered, for the memory was not a pleasant one. “Well, I’m here now.”
Peter gave him a small, relieved smile. Edmund returned it, knowing how close they had come to losing one another.