The first part of this, other than the first few paragraphs here, will be several flashbacks and memories from the view of Peter, Edmund, and the masters. The story will only progress a little other than that, as that's what it's focusing on for the first few chapters. This is to help explain what's happened to Edmund.

Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia.

Broken

Chapter 1

Edmund's face was white against the blue of his bedclothes, his black eyebrows and lashes shocking streaks across his colorless face. Peter sat at his side, trying to bring life into the white skin by rubbing it with his hands. Nothing seemed to work, however, and he eventually was forced to admit defeat.

He looked to his brother's face, searching for any sign of life. Edmund's eyes were open, their dark color strong, but they were…lifeless. Blank. There was no expression there, nothing to tell Peter his brother was seeing him—which he doubted.

"Oh, Peter," Lucy whispered, pressing her tear-soaked handkerchief to her mouth. "What in Aslan's name happened?"

His eyes flitted briefly across her face before returning to Edmund's. "I'd prefer not to talk about it right now, Lucy."

"You must tell us eventually," Susan said. Her voice was sharper than Lucy's. "Whatever it is, it's clearly done great damage to Edmund's mental state. Please, Peter, what is it?"

He merely repeated, " I'd rather not talk about it right now. I'll tell you sometime. I promise. But right now I need to take care of Edmund."

"Oh!" Lucy let out a little cry of frustration and buried her face into Edmund's chest, weeping. "It is so unfair of you, Peter!" she cried.

"I'm sorry," he said calmly, looking to Edmund. Even as Lucy cried, there was no change in the blank eyes, not even a flicker, much to his despair. Oh, Ed.

*flashback*

Torches lit the courtyard brilliantly. Edmund lay spread-eagled on his stomach, eyes tightly closed. He would not allow them to see his humiliation. He would not allow them to see his fear.

Peter bit his lip so hard it bled.

Their captors, their new masters, had arranged an audience of roughly thirty other captives—prostitutes, slaves—to watch this punishment.

They could not have any others becoming rebellious. It was bad enough that this Narnian barbarian had dared to try and escape with his older brother.

And now, to their pleasure, he was taking the punishment for them both.

The masters had assembled this audience of slaves because, done properly, tonight's punishment could benefit their work for years to come. They hoped that watching this would leave a powerful and lasting impression on any other slaves who might be feeling rebellious. This impression would come not only from the agony of his punishment, but from his humiliation beforehand.

He had been forced to remove his clothing and lie flat upon the ground while awaiting his restraints.

"Stay still, barbarian," a high-ranking house slave ordered, "or you will suffer far worse punishments than this."

The Narnian didn't even raise his head.

Kneeling beside him, the house slave tied ropes to Edmund's wrists and ankles. These ropes, pegged into the ground, kept his limbs both restrained from any movement and extended.

Glancing to the older brother, Erol noted the way he was biting his lip. Torchlight illuminated the blood on his face from the small wound.

Finally, Maajid arrived. With him, he carried a burlap sack at arm's length. This sack jumped and writhed with a life of its own, an angry yowling audible.

Shihib stepped forward, jaw set, eyes narrowed as he took in the other man. "What has taken you so long?"

Maajid looked at him, and with a hint of defiance, answered, "it took them long to get the cat prepared and into the sack. It is through no fault of my own."

Regarding the sack with delight, Erol took his time donning padded gauntlets before calling out, effectively silencing any chatter.

"You are here to witness the punishment of a disobedient servant," he said, voice dripping with disdain for those assembled. "This is what is to come—perhaps worse, far worse—if you choose to make the mistake he did. This slave attempted to run away from our kindness with his elder brother." Here he gestured to Peter. "The punishment tonight is to be—" he took the burlap sack from Maajid—"cat-hauling."

He heard gasps. The sound pleased him. Oh yes, this would go well.

Erol gestured to a female slave, Zahira, to pick up a bucket of heavily salted water. If the Northerner was resistant, uncooperative, he would pour this onto the wounds.

She scurried over, head down, and picked it up, setting it on the ground.

He planned to take his time with this. Slowly and deliberately was the way to do it—the impression would last longer this way, or so he hoped.

Passing the sack back to Maajid, he nodded to the man. "All right. Maajid—now open it."

The other man, looking quite nervous for once, opened the top of the sack. Before the cat inside had a chance to spring out, Erol plunged his gloved hand in, swallowing hard. It took him only moments to catch the cat by its rear legs and lift into the torchlight.

Erol held the squalling, screeching animal at arm's length for fear it would take his eye out, and approached Edmund. The slave met his eyes defiantly, completely expressionless otherwise.

He responded with a sneer. "I do hope this will hurt quite a bit, barbarian."

And then, stooping slightly, he swung the cat by its legs, straight toward Edmund's bared back. Sharp claws struck between Edmund's shoulders, cutting, ripping, and tearing all the way to the base of his spine. It was difficult, but Erol managed to jerk the cat up again. Looking at the bloody paws, he grinned.

Edmund had not cried out, but his face was contorted in pain and he'd nearly bitten through his lower lip.

"This is far from finished, young barbarian," he whispered, and swung again.

Blood spurted.