AN: Hi all, and a Happy New Year. This was my submission for the Narnian Fanfiction Revolution's Secret Santa. It was written as a gift for and is dedicated to Chibifukorou. My prompt was Edmund-Centric, Peter and Edmund brotherly relationship, Taking place during the Golden-age or after The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. I hope you all enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Chronicles of Narnia and am quite obviously, making no money from this fic.

Dreams Enthralled

Edmund comes awake with a loud groan, as a door bangs loudly in the distance and the sound of chains clang across stone floor. He has been dreaming. The chill of night-time desert shattering through bones and causing memories of times past to invade his mind and cloud his judgement. He is not alone. Around him are nearly twenty people, mostly dark skinned, some children, some old, women and men, prisoners. Edmund is separate from them. The tiny space of their cell does not allow for much of a divide. Still, it is present by the fact that they do not speak to him, nor share bodily warmth and comfort. He is different.

The door to the cell opens with a noise like nails grating on skin and the silhouette of a man appears behind the flickering light of a torch. He steps into the cell and the other prisoners shrink back, afraid. Edmund does not. He leans against the wall and crosses his arms. I am not afraid of you, is his challenge, do your worst.

The man grins with all his teeth on show and pulls at the chain which had been held loosely in one hand. From behind the man a boy stumbles and with a harsh word the door slams shut and there is a new occupant. The boy is swept into the bosom of the other prisoners with scarcely a glance at Edmund. Edmund cares not, for with the shutting of the door, light is swept away from the room and Edmund can think without fear that others may see the thoughts crossing his face.

He knows he is in trouble.

The Cair's ballroom was filled to the brim with people and a great amount of food and wine was being consumed, much to the joy of the dryads and fauns who had plans to continue the party long after it was over, and were in fact, already making plans to sneak off once their favourite dance had been performed. The dwarves were already under the table, having a great love of wine, and very little tolerance for it. The dance being attempted was one popular amongst centaurs and horses, for it involved a great amount of bucking and kicking. Nevertheless, Lucy was gamely attempting to join in, and considering that she lacked vital components, was doing rather well at it. After this dance, a stately Pavane began for the more elderly amongst the Cair to enjoy, and then a far livelier Galliard. It was the hope that the Galliard would coax the fauns from their cups for a time as it was a type of dance well suited to them, with many jumps and leaps and the opportunity to show off, as it was largely improvised. Sure enough, as the musicians' first notes struck the fauns converged on the dance floor. This was the dance they had been waiting for and the naiads and dryads giggled into their cups and made preparations to steal a few barrels whilst the fauns' enthusiastic dancing provided a distraction. To the side of the room was a group of men in fine silks, and loose, flowing robes, perfectly suited to the warm, spring air. They were the ambassadors from Calormen and it was for them that the grand ball had been organised. It was a celebration of the conclusion of the negotiations which had been ongoing for the past two week; two weeks of non-stop feasting, tournaments, music and entertainment, all put on with the idea to impress their uneasy allies. The elephants had been run ragged rehearsing their bards and story tellers, and poor Parthenope, who was such a sweet, young nightingale, would need at least a week off, after singing at table, every single night.

The Galliard was drawing to a close, and as the last note fell to much applause, and as several fauns gave a great leap out of the open doors which led into the courtyard, there came a sudden hush. It was not only the Narnians who felt the need to impress. The Calormen ambassadors had come with a huge array of extravagant gifts and their own entertainment, amongst them flame eaters, exotic dancers (although perhaps the Narnians had the edge on sensual dancing as none of the Calormen girls could disappear in a puff of leaves and a moment later reappear in the lap of an unsuspecting gentleman, as some of the Dryads sometimes did), wrestlers, knife throwers, horse racers, tumblers, jugglers and acrobats. Now, a group of men, naked from the waist up, holding swords in one hand and long, silk ribbon in the other took to the floor for the final performance. They bowed to the thrones, bowed to the setting sun and bowed to each other. A long, narrow, wooden instrument blew out its lingering notes which hung lowly in the air. Coloured smoke began to ease from carefully placed pots to pool around the feet and legs of the men, climbing up their bodies, and the hollow beat of a drum called. They began to dance.

Edmund from his position on the throne, watched them carefully, clapping politely whenever a particularly daring stunt was performed or some clever footwork was used. He appeared utterly entranced. In reality he was anything but.

He hadn't expected the negotiations to go smoothly, as dealing with Calormen was never smooth. However, he and Susan had carefully worked out their strategy, had scouted their opponents on the battlefield of the diplomatic room. They had thought themselves prepared enough to get a decent deal in the new trade agreement. They were wrong.

The Calormen Prince who they thought they were dealing with had fallen ill and so a new man, an unknown man had been sent to head the negotiations in his place, bringing along an unknown team. This new ambassador gave in easily on issues which Edmund and Susan had thought they would have to fight for, because they were under the impression that such things were worth a lot to the Calormens. And then they fought for higher prices on objects which they were convinced the Calormens cared nothing about. Their information was wrong. On the Narnian side, the Calormens fought vehemently against things Narnia needed. But on the things which Narnia cared little for, but put in to throw Calormen off their true aims, the ambassadors conceded easily. The Calormens information was right. The first could be passed off as bad luck. But this was not just one point of bad luck and Edmund had not become the chief of the Narnian Intelligence by failing to take note of the importance of coincidences.

As one Calormen sliced through a red ribbon, Edmund leaned to the side of his throne to where Peter was watching with rapt attention. Not taking his eyes off the dancing he said, "There is a traitor in this room."

It is morning. The cell has turned into an oven. The high window is placed in such a way as to catch the sun directly in its sights. The prisoners look more pitiful in the morning. Filth and dust encase their skin and clothes. Beards are overgrown. Some people are asleep, pressing themselves against the cold floor as much as possible. Others clutch their stomachs. They haven't been fed since their capture. Some have been there longer than Edmund and Edmund has already been there two nights.

The stench has risen as well. They have not been given a bucket, and so are forced to use a corner of the room like dumb animals. It is humiliating. It is meant to be humiliating. They want to train humanity out of their prisoners.

There are heavy footsteps approaching, and some look up hopefully, thinking themselves about to be fed. But there are angry voices, two maybe three men. Edmund recognises the lowest voice and feels both elated and saddened. He has been proven right. His friend, his confidant is a traitor.

The door once again screeches open and Edmund ducks his head. He knows he cannot be recognised. But Dane, the traitor barely gives him a glance. His eyes are drawn to a pretty, young thing in the corner. Her arms and stomach are bare and she appears uncomfortable. The clothes are not her own, but were forced onto her upon her capture. She stares defiantly through dark eyes, unblinking, at Dane and Edmund admires her courage. He wishes he could shield her, but he cannot risk discovery. He is not a fool. He knows what his life is worth, and that he could do little worse than to give it up so recklessly.

As the girl is dragged out of the room, Edmund's dark eyes catch hers. He gives what strength he can and prays it is enough.

Peter, to his credit, did not flinch or react in any visible way, except to take a sip from his goblet. His wine had been watered down, as Peter had a low ability to hold his drink, and he would not let himself lose control in front of servants of the Tisroc, who Peter knew was an ally only so long as the mood suited him.

"I suspected as much by Susan's report on the negotiations. Any idea of who it might be?"

Edmund allowed his foot to tap in time with the music and chanced a glance around the room. No one sprang to mind as being overtly suspicious, but then he hadn't expected them to. In order to be a traitor, one first had to be trusted, and there was the crux of the matter.

"No," he surreptitiously shook his head, "I could narrow it down, but not enough. I think though, I might have a plan on how to find out."

The crowd roars with pleasure as another person is sold into slavery. The boy fetched a good price and the traders are pleased. So far not a single slave has gone unsold and so it could be said to be a good day for them, if not for anyone else. It is Edmund's turn and he is shoved forward to jeers and catcalls, made to circle about, tilt his head, show his smile and display himself as far as possible. He doesn't fear discovery. He has been standing in full view of several people who have come to pay court to him. They have bowed before his lofty throne and wrote poems of praise to him, but they do not recognise him without his crown and sceptre in hand and without the scores of guards and courtiers that normally surround him.

The traders have taken his clothes. White skin is a delicacy in Calormene and must be put on show. But his white skin has quickly turned red in the high sun and any attraction that he might have had has vanished. In a moment of joy he realises that he will not be sold. He can be of no use to these desert people.

He looks at his captors who appear to have realised the same. They are angry, muttering between themselves and casting blame at the loss of such a profit. The third son of the Tisroc is in the crowd and his tastes were well known.

"I don't want you to go, Edmund."

Edmund looked up from where he was carefully spreading jam on a piece of toast. He was already wearing his travelling gear and the contingent of guards who would accompany him part of the way was already assembling. Edmund thought that Peter's protests were somewhat obsolete at this stage. Susan also thought so as she spoke up from behind a cup of tea, "Really, Peter, what other
option is there?"

Peter scowled, "Some option that does not mean my younger brother goes alone into the heart of Calormene on what is an undoubtedly dangerous mission."

"Dangerous, only if I am caught," Edmund said wryly.

"Not helping, Ed," Susan said as she daintily took a bread roll, and at the same time nodded her head towards her elder brother.

Peter was working himself into a tiff, "You are not going."

Edmund grew serious, "Is that a command?"

Peter shifted in his seat, "Ed..."

"Peter, if you order me not to, then I will obey, but we decided long ago that there were things that I could do, that you could not. Do you really want to step into my business?"

Peter looked away, "No, I do not pretend to understand it the way you do. But why does it have to be you who goes?"

"Would you rather Susan?"

Susan smiled daintily from behind her cup.

"No!"

"Good, because if Susan went she would have to do things in an entirely different method and I would not want to compromise her virtue in such a manner."

"Edmund!" said a scandalised Peter. Edmund shared a grin with Susan. They both knew that Susan was capable enough at seduction that she could take without really giving anything. It had been a skill they had utilised many times for the good of Narnia. Of course, Peter did not know that. Peter was an overprotective elder brother at best, and so there were some things that the three younger
siblings had agreed to never tell him. Edmund and Susan put a lot more things on that list than Lucy did, because Lucy was much more open and free, whilst Edmund and Susan weren't afraid to do distasteful things to achieve an end.

"Stop being obtuse," Lucy said as she entered the room, after shamelessly eavesdropping. "You know what Peter is trying to get at."

Peter shot Lucy a thankful look. Lucy would have none of that, "and you! Stop it! You can't go yourself as you'd make a dreadful spy. Really, Ed is the only option. He, at least, speaks several languages and has dark enough hair and eyes that he can pass off as a merchant from practically any country. You, on the other hand, speak only one language, and are so golden that you practically scream, 'Here is Peter, High King of Narnia.' I'd love to see you attempting it. You'd be picked up within minutes by the Tisroc's guards, and the next thing we know, we'd have a ransom note on top of everything else. That is, if he doesn't just execute you."

Lucy was nothing if not blunt.

Peter was nothing if not stubborn.

"But why does he have to go alone?"

Edmund put an hand on Peters shoulder and forced him to stop pacing and look him in the eye, "Because Peter. No talking animal could come with me, and I am forced to put all humans under the suspicion of treason. I have no choice."

Edmund is not sure how much time has passed since that day at the auction. All he knows is that he was made to go through that process twice more. But the traders are not stationary people. They enjoy trade in many countries, some within the Calormen Empire and some not. Those not sold in Calormen are packed up into the back of caravans and carts to be taken to the next location. They do not know where they are going next but they cross the desert. Edmund is in a cart and the sun beats down on him, and causes thick trails of sweat to seep down his skin, dripping onto the hard wood which he is forced to lie on.

He is sick. It isn't surprising really. Too much heat, too little food and too many people. It was bound to happen. But he wishes that the pounding in his head would stop for just a moment so that he could think! But the constant thud, thud, thud continues and his stomach rolls along with the cart that he is tied to. He hopes that he will not throw up, because he does not know if he has the strength to move. He prays that he will get better soon because a sick slave is worthless.

The market place was rich and vibrant, with colourful stalls set against white, stone walls. Bodies pushed against each other making their way from merchants shouting out the prices for fine silks, to where fragrant perfumes or heady spices were being bargained. Tarkheenas were led through in litters born by slaves, heavily tented so no dust could dirty them, or sun mar their beautiful, pale skin. It was the busiest time of day. It was just before evening, and within the hour the stalls would close for the night and the merchants would stop selling their wares and all would go silent and still. The streets were not safe to wonder in at night. But now was the time when everyone would be out. The sun was not directly over head and the air seemed less still and heavy, the sky more clear as heat stopped distorting the vision. Soon the sun would descend completely and the heat of the day would change to the icy chill of the night.

In the centre of the market place, a small commotion was being ignored by the vast majority of the people. It was all too familiar a sight. Ordinary people had no protection in Calormen. Barbarian Northerners had even less.

"Get off of me," Edmund snarled as two men grabbed his arms. He kicked the first one in the kneecap causing him to swear and let go, and twisted his arm in such away which forced the other to release him. He immediately set off at a run, attempting to draw his sword which was tied to his belt. Before he was able, a hard figure collided with him and pushed him to the ground. Dust flew into his mouth. The sword belt was cut, the knife slicing slightly into his skin, and the sword itself was tossed to the side, to be collected and sold later. Edmund spluttered for a moment, but was then hauled to his feet, forced to stare up into the face of a gaunt faced man, with golden teeth, all of which were on show. A thin finger traced his jaw bone and his nose.

"Such a pretty thing. He will fetch a good price. Such beautiful skin."

Edmund spat.

A fist hit his stomach. Not his face, that was too precious.

There was no interference as Edmund was manacled. He was not a King here. He was a merchant and now he was a slave.

There are trees surrounding them and lush soil, and Edmund knows how far north they have come by the steady drip, drip, drip of water from the canopy overhead. Edmund is lying next to where the horses are tethered as the traders make camp for the night. In their last location they swapped the camels for the horses. Edmund whispers to them in the hopes that they will talk back, and carries on whispering even when it becomes clear that they won't. He whispers, "I am Edmund and I have a brother called Peter and two sisters called Susan and Lucy. I am a servant of the Lion and he guides me. I am Edmund..."

The traders do not call him by the name he gave them, but by a number. In his delirious state he imagines that he made up his name and that he never had one. He thinks that Peter and Susan and Lucy are simply dreams. He is just a number, just a statistic, just a price.

But he'd rather believe in the dreams.

"I am Edmund."

Edmund is sick. He is sick because he knows he is now in his own lands. He felt the magic wash over his fading body as he entered. He can see through the haze of his mind familiar trees and familiar stars. He now knows that he is not a number because that feeling could not possibly be false. He is sick because his presence as a captive in his lands means that there are Narnians who own slaves. He wants to throw up, but he dry heaves instead.

They are once again camping. There is a cliff face on one side of them, and thick trees surrounding them and a river only a short while away. The camp is a cold one. The traders do not wish to risk discovery, and have already beaten prisoners for talking too loudly. For Edmund this is not a problem. Already distant, his sickness has made him a pariah amongst the other slaves. They do not have his high value to save them from being killed at the slightest hint of illness. Edmund does not know how much more time he will be given. He does not know how much more willing they will be to haul him around.

In the tree, a crow. Edmund can't believe it, but there it is. It is staring at Edmund, head tilted to the side as if he can't quite believe what he is seeing either.

"Get Peter," Edmund mouths. The crow does a curious bob and flies.

Edmund thinks that he dreamt the Crow after a few more days of being dragged through the wet Narnian soil to be dumped unceremoniously again and again on a sickening cart. He cannot believe himself fortunate enough to have been seen by a Crow. Crows were his in a way that other Narnians were not. They could recognise him in any condition. It could not have been real.

Edmund falls into dreams. He dreams of something grabbing his heart and choking his throat in an icy grip. He wakes up spluttering but cannot sustain that state and falls again. The heat scorches him and he is under the Calormen sun, crowds converging on his naked body, tugging him this way and that, scorning him, jeering him and claiming him. On the cart he tosses fitfully, silent pleas mouthed, "Please! No! Aslan!"

He is in the desert, and ahead there is a lion, large and grand. He is leaving footprints to guide the way.

Edmund stills and he sleeps.

Edmund doesn't register what is happening at first. There is so much noise and his eyes don't seem to be working right. He is on the ground. He can feel the earth seeping into his clothes and he can gather up just enough energy to tilt his head slightly to the side and to move his fingers across the ground which he knows is Narnian. But everything is distant and much heavier than it ought to be.

It takes a moment for him to realise what he is hearing. Shouts. Metal clanging, perhaps it is swords?

It certainly sounds like swords, but he might just be dreaming. But no! His eyes blurry though they are can make out the elongated limbs of trees snapping out of the earth to slam down upon unsuspecting heads. There are hoof beats and then he is in the shade, as some four legged being stands protectively over him.

He blinks and when he opens his eyes the sound of battle has faded and kneeling in front of him is a blessedly familiar sight.

"Peter," Edmund whispers, wanting to reach out a hand to touch him, to confirm that he was real, but his arms are too heavy and will not rise.

Peter instead reaches out his own hand and gently smoothes down his hair. Edmund wants to cry. He is real, so real. He shines so brightly, all golden haired and silver mailed and the sight is so wonderful and he can't help it, but he really does cry, and he's laughing at the same time because he's free and there's no shame at all, for all that he is supposed to be the dark, mysterious King, because Peter is there and Peter has rescued him.

And he's rescued the others as well. Edmund can see them being led to where a fire has hastily been built and warm food and clean water is being pressed into their hands, and they are looking at Peter in wonder too, but they are also looking at him in wonder as if seeing him properly for the first time.

And Edmund for the first time in weeks doesn't feel sick or weak or powerless for all that he is all those things because he is home and Peter is saying his name again and again and again and there is a roaring in his ears which might be shock but it might also be the lion.

And even though Peter is in mail and Edmund is not, and even though he knows it will hurt to have metal shoved against skin, Peter pulls Edmund into an embrace, and suddenly the world, which had seemed so small when he was a slave, becomes huge.