Title: Cold Obsession
Author: tarotgal
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia- set after The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
Rating: G
Spoilers: LWW
Disclaimer: The world and all its characters are C.S.Lewis' not mine and I wouldn't claim to own it or dare make money from this.
Summary: Following the LWW, Peter becomes a little obsessive and over-protective of his country. Unfortunately, that means he neglects a few other things.
Notes: My ever first attempt at a CON fic. This was written for the Sneezefic Halloween-themed challenge bunny #2: write a story using the words/phrases ‘werewolf', ‘freezing', ‘full moon', ‘I'm scared', and ‘is that you?'
Feedback: I'm nervously awaiting some.

Cold Obsession

Peter woke to the sound of crickets chirping out their evening mating song. He had retired to bed immediately after dinner in an attempt at fending off a head cold which he was almost surely coming down with. It was early yet, the full moon still on the rise, not yet clearing the tops of the trees outside the castle window. He rolled over with a soft, restrained cough, realizing he was drenched in sweat. Quickly, he pulled back the covers and stood to change.

It was a dream, not the crickets, that had awoken him from his slumbers. A dream that had not let him sleep well for many nights now. A dream which made him tear off his nightgown and pull on britches, a shirt, and a warm top coat. The clothing was nothing at all like what he had worn in England, but warm and familiar just the same for they had been in Narnia for close to four years now and thought very little of their life back in England, even when around each other. He grabbed his sword in its sheath and slung his lion-crested shield over his back. Then, taking the slowly-dying candle at his bedside with him, headed out of his chambers.

The whole of Cair Paravel was silent as he made his way down the hallway. He stopped by each of his sibling's rooms along the way, to be sure to say good night if they were not yet asleep. His nose was running as it had been all day, and he buried his nose in the folds of his handkerchief to keep from sniffling and making any unneeded sound. Susan was asleep in bed, hair in loose braids, strewn about on her pillow, a pleasant, dreamy smile on her face. Peter tip-toed in and kissed her on the forehead, tugging her blankets up past her shoulders to her chin as this night threatened to be colder than the last. Edmund, too, was asleep already, a book open across his chest and the candles on his bedstand still burning brightly. Peter extinguished them all, knowing that Edmund preferred to sleep in the dark, and closed the book, setting it to his side but marking the page he had fallen asleep on. Lucy, however, was neither asleep nor in her room. This, however, was far from unusual.

He headed down and over to the stables. His horse, a brilliant while one, was staring up at him impatiently, as though relieved he had finally arrived. He smiled and set to work fixing a pad, saddle, and bridle upon it, then led it from its stall. Peter paused a moment to pull his handkerchief out again. There was a maddening tickle there now, not just the runs he'd had earlier. Supposing it was better just to sneeze and get it over with, he tried to draw the sneeze out. He snuffled wetly into it, trying to control his breath, but it was no use. There was nothing he could do but stand there like an indiot, frozen on the spot, and wait for the sneezes to come. The tickle in the back of his nose built slowly but steadily now that he was allowing it its freedom. It filled his nose and even tickled his throat into coughing once. Then, finally, it built up into enough of a tickle.  "ihhh... ihh-HITChoo! Ihhh-HETChahh!" he sneezed, giving his nose a good rubbing to calm it. The horse looked back at him as though it understood he wasn't feeling his best. It wasn't a talking horse, but even the non-talking beasts of Narnia were terribly smart and perceptive. As it reached back and nuzzled him, he patted its soft, velvety nose in appreciation for its concern. Then he motioned for it to go on. He walked it out past the length of the castle, stopping as he passed the outside entrance to the courtyard. "Go to bed, Lucy, it's late," he murmured.

There were soft footsteps, then Lucy appeared in the doorway. "Not ordering me there, are you Peter?" She leaned on the side of the wall, looking over at him, dressed warmly in his hunting attire.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Lu. But it is getting late. There's no arguing with that."

"I just fancied a walk in the garden before bed. The others are asleep, then?" She strolled forward to pet Peter's horse. Peter nodded. "And you're heading out again to try to find Maugrim?" Peter gave a bit of a cough but nodded. He looked up at the sky. Full moon. The best time to search for a werewolf. "But it's been a month since any sightings of him. And even then... Peter, the witch is dead. She has to be."

Peter coughed again and mounted his horse. "Good night, Lucy..." his nose tickled again, and this time he had no time to bother with the handkerchief, though he had tucked it into the most accessible pocket. He covered his mouth and nose roughly with his hand, bending forward on the horse, which was good enough to remain steady beneath him as he sneezed. "hihhh-IHHHChshhhhh!" He sniffled wetly and tried to look as though the sneeze meant nothing.

"G'night, Peter," she answered. Then she undid her scarf and handed it up to him. "Promise me you'll try and stay warm? I fear you're coming down with a sniffle."

He wrapped the scarf around his neck a few times, finding warmth surround him from the base of his neck to his chin. "I'll be fine tonight. But thank you for the scarf." He dug his heels into the horse's sides and gave it a gentle nudge forward. It trotted off with him posting on-top, breaking into a gallop once they'd cleared the grounds of the castle.

*                      *                      *

To Peter's memory, the first snow of the year had never come so early or so heavy. It certainly wasn't comparable to the snows they had experienced through their first days in Narnia, during The White Witch's reign. But it was cold and wet and made Peter wish desperately to be back in the castle under the warm covers of his bed.

"ihhh-CHISHHH!" Especially now that the cold was making his own cold worse. He constantly sniffled and snuffled, sometimes pulling out his handkerchief, other times, rubbing his nose into the scarf. A little sniffle was nothing compared to what he had to do tonight. What he must do tonight. He would worry about his illness upon his return and confine himself to his bed for days if needed to recover. But now he was too busy to bother with his sniffles.

But the snow had certain advantages. Namely, tracks. He found tracks of deer, and some of a bear, and some of a rabbit who seemed to be running from a fox. He rode slowly past woods where animals took cover. He rode more quickly in the open spaces once he'd established that no tracks were anywhere near. And he didn't just look for tracks, no, he used every bit of his hunting skills, listening to the land, and looking out for broken brush or devoured prey. But Mougrim was smart and left none of the obvious clues.

"hihhTChooo! hehhTChuhhhh! hih-ihhh...HITChooo!" He sneezed again, into his handkerchief. Then he rewrapped the scarf so that it covered his face as well, all the way up to his eyes. His sneezing was getting worse and at this rate, any enemy would hear him coming from a long distance away, just from his sneezes. But with the scarf there, at least the sounds of his sniffles and such would be sufficiently muffled and the warmth would keep his nose from running quite so much.

He was soaked to the skin, freezing beyond the point of mere shivering. And yet he continued his search, leaving no cave or cliff unsearched. His dreams... they had been so real lately. He simply couldn't believe that with all this searching he would not eventually find the foe. Originally he and Edmund, accompanied by a handful of the bravest Narnian knights, had all searched the land, up through the lands of the north as well, giving up after months of hard searching had made them tired and weary and longing for home. But recently there had been tales of a werewolf sighted in the southern and eastern regions and there had been a rash of murders near to where The White Witch's castle had been. And this was where Peter was headed now.

The castle was in ruin, not simply because of the years of varied weather which had melted portions and crumbled others. But because the rebellious Narnians had taken it upon themselves to decimate it in victory. It looked now, in the thickly-falling snow, as cold and terrifying as it had once looked, though lonely without the stone statues decorating the courtyard and hallways of the palace. Peter slowed the horse to a walk as they entered through the gate, and stopped the horse immediately at the sight before him. Pawprints in the snow. And not those of a stag or a bear or a rabbit or even a dog. No. These had undoubtedly been made by a wolf.

Though all the members of The White Witch's secret police who could be found had been captured or killed, there were still some wolves in the area and it was impossible to know whose side they had been on. But these tracks... Peter knew these tracks. And he knew this castle. He had scoured every inch of it for clues personally, despite all three of his siblings insisting that The White Witch was dead and gone. He knew well that the two stone wolves that guarded the sides of the staircase up to the main door of her castle had been damaged, for he had personally cracked each with the hilt of his sword in symbol. And he knew, now, that the one on the right was no statue. The tracks in the snow led straight to that spot. And no matter how still it sat and how covered with snow it looked, Peter knew it was not the statue he remembered. And he knew that no ordinary wolf would hide so intelligently.

"Mougrim!" Peter shouted, his voice a little deeper than it had been upon his last encounter with the werewolf. "We have killed your Mistress, and all you can do is cower and hide? You are nothing here!" He raised his sword and tightened the shield on his back for he could protect his front just fine. But where a werewolf bites, he holds until he dies and he was not about to allow this one access to him unawares.

The stone wolf, who Peter was staring straight at as he raised his sword, leapt to life. It sprang towards him in a mess of snarls and saliva, going for his throat. Peter turned the horse too late. Surprised, it reared and the wolf caught it round the neck rather than getting to Peter as it had planned. The horse was taken down, and Peter with it. But there was no time to see to his steed. He slid off before his leg could be trapped between the horse's side and the ground. He sniffled hard against the freezing cold and shouted "Come and fight me, you coward!"

The wolf tore itself off the mistargeted horse and went for Peter. It tried with its claws, standing on two legs like a man, swiping at Peter. They circled each other a good deal, starting each other down. It could not reach Peter with its claws and he was just out of range of Peter's sword.

"You killed my Mistress," it hissed. "And you killed my pack."

"And now I'm going to kill you!" Peter replied just as angrily though in reality he was feeling fine and brave, emotions well under control. He had waited far too long for this.

"Didn't try hard enough last time, did you?" It retorted with a nasty sneer. It was true of course, that the grudge between the two of them had gone on for much longer than simply the battle against the witch. He had stabbed Mougrim in the heart upon his first battle ever, and all had thought him dead then. However, everyone thought the witch dead as well.

"I am Sir Peter Wolfsbane for a reason!" he shouted, lunging at the werewolf. He slashed it across the belly, spilling blood onto the freshly fallen snow. It took the opportunity to claw at his face, missing his eye but leaving deep scratches in his cheek. Peter ignored the pain and swung again, dodging as he did so. It was a lovely dance this time. He felt brave, not sick to his stomach like the first time they had fought. There was a beauty to fighting a werewolf, and he had his rhythm down this time. Swing, duck, block, counter, thrust, lunge.

There was a growling roar that burbled up through its throat as Peter stabbed it right through the belly. In victory, he gave the sword a quarter turn and he spat blood from his mouth. Peter knelt on the beast, keeping it from transforming back into full wolf form. He pressed his bloody blade to its throat. "Now hear this. I do not want to see you or any of your lot in my country again, do you hear me? And when you see her, you tell the witch--" the wolf's eyes glowed with sudden fear and recognition "--that I know she sits up in the north waiting, but she will not get my kingdom. I am the high king," he whispered, his face so close to the werewolf's that he could smell its putrid breath. "And I will always protect this land with my blood. So you tell her that she will never find power here again, no matter how hard she tries." The wolf nodded, gasping with pain, unable to speak.

Peter pulled off the mess of bright red blood and grey fur. Mougrim looked at him a moment, turned into a full wolf again, and raced out of the castle ruins, heading straight for the north. As soon as the wolf was gone, Peter fell to his knees, nearly getting sick to his stomach. Not from nerves of fighting this time, but for having such restraint. But it had to be done, and he had made his point. And he was certain, finally, that this time they had seen the last of Mougrim and his queen.

Peter pulled himself up, wiping his blade on the snow, then sheathing it. His horse, which had fallen from injury, had taken the opportunity to escape once Peter had engaged the wolf. It left a bloody trail behind as it headed back to its home, knowing the way well. Peter, too, knew the way, and started there on foot, following hoofprints this time. The cuts on his cheek added splatters of blood to the trail on the snow.

Peter pulled the scarf Lucy had given him up again, and pressed the folds against his cheek to hold back the blood. In the cold, it bled slowly, and his face and the rest of him was so numb he could barely feel the pain from it.

"iihhh..." he gasped, needing badly to sneeze again. The adrenaline from the fight had driven his illness back momentarily. But now that he had nothing to do but walk, the sneezes and sniffles were returning in full. And not caring about anyone hearing him this time, and feeling too weak to bother pulling out his handkerchief, he sneezed freely. "ihhh-KETChuhhhh! ihhhTCHoooo! eh-ihhh-HITChuhhhhh!" The sneezes were soft but strong, taking quite a lot of energy out of him. He walked until he'd forgotten which foot was which and simply had to stumble forward blindly in the snow until he collapsed, a smile on his face nonetheless.

*                      *                      *

"I'm scared," whispered Lucy, burying her head into Susan's velvety shoulder and chest. "He looks so terribly pale."

‘I'm fine,' Peter thought, drifting back to consciousness but being unable to open his mouth at the moment. He heard soft sobbing and felt nothing but warmth surrounding him. "I'm sure he'll be fine," Peter heard Edmund said softly to reassure his sisters. Peter tried to nod in affirmation. And he tried to say that yes, he would indeed be fine. But he could not manage to get the words past his throat.

There was a strangled sob Peter thought he recognized as well. Rather then pulling his heavy eyelids open, he tried again to whisper to tell them he was all right. His voice was gruff and uneven, shaking from the strength of forming words. "Lucy... is that you? I..." but his voice failed him again, dropping off, then covered up by some coughing.

"He's awake!" Lucy screamed, perhaps a bit too loudly, for Peter flinched. But in a moment, three pairs of hands were on him, touching him soothingly, wiping his nose, touching his mouth with a damp cloth, stroking his good cheek, adjusting the blankets.

"Peter? Peter, try to open your eyes." Peter did, finding Edmund hovering over him, looking worried.

"Shouldn't..." Peter managed, stopping again to cough. "You shouldn't be concerned with me. I'll be fine." But he felt weak and tired and, above all, sick.

"You're not at all fine," Susan snapped, sounding like Mother and Nana all in one. "What did you think you were doing riding out in the middle of the night in that snow? You could have died. You nearly did die. And that's even with a few drops of Lucy's cordial." Lucy, apparently still too caught in tears of relief to speak, merely sniffled and nodded to confirm this. Peter did not know what to say for an apology, because he was not sorry in the least for his actions. But Susan did not really seem to need one. She cupped her hands around his face and kissed him hard on the forehead. "Don't you ever scare us like that again!"

He smiled weakly and shook his head. His nose was ticklish again, but not quite as bad as when he had been out in the snow and ice. "How... did I get here?" he thought to ask.

"First, you should have a drink," Susan said sternly, motioning to Edmund who was sitting closest to the drink.

Edmund retrieved a goblet that was being warmed on two sides by tall pillar candles. He lifted it to Peter's lips, tilting it very gently. The spiced wine tore past his tired lips and dry tongue, filling his mouth with warmth and soothing the back of his throat. He closed his eyes to savor the taste as he drank, devoting all he had towards enjoying the pleasurable sensation. "Thanks, Ed," he whispered when the goblet had been drained right down to the last drop. "I needed that," he added meekly.

"Of course," said Edmund both casually and comfortingly. Lucy simply stifled another sob. "Your horse came back early this morning without you," Edmund explained, sparing the girls the difficulty of relating the gruesome details. Peter looked pleadingly at Edmund for some information about his horse "It was bleeding very badly, but the doctors think it will pull through. Though it won't be up to any long rides for a very long while."

"That's all right," whispered a relieved Peter, wishing there were still a little more hot wine for it now made his head spin pleasantly with warmth. "I won't need it to. Please... go on..."

Edmund obliged. "Well, one of the owls flew up and woke me at once, and I roused practically the whole castle. We all rode out searching for you." At this, both the girls nodded and Peter was suddenly very glad that they had all been so concerned about him. "Lucy and I were the ones to find you. You'd passed out and already had a layer of snow covering you. Another hour or two and you would have been dead." The girls both nodded at this, too. "Lucy gave you some of the cordial and we both undressed you at once and wrapped you in thick, dry blankets. Susan came around with one of the centaurs and blew her horn to signal that you'd been found, and we all headed back to the castle and put you straight to bed. And we've been here ever since, waiting for you to wake."

Peter realized only now that he was again wearing his night shirt, and there was a hot stone wrapped in cloth at the foot of his bed to warm his feet. Weakly, he reached up and touched his cheek where there were raised marks where he had been scratched, though they had stopped bleeding and scabbed over. Lucy's fire-berry cordial could restore life, even on an inch of death. But with such serious injuries it could not heal completely and he almost felt guilty to make her waste a precious drop on him. He wanted to say thank you, but all he could manage was a rather fierce yawn.

"Come on," Susan said, tugging the blankets up just a bit. They were already up to his chin, but it made her feel as though she were helping to tug them up just a little more. "We should give Peter some rest." She reached across Peter to Edmund, tapping his shoulder and nudging him towards the door. Then she stood and took Lucy by the shoulders and push her out as well.

"Just a moment," Lucy said, breaking away from her crying for a moment, looking up at Susan with bloodshot eyes. "I'll be quick, I promise. But I just need a moment."

Susan nodded and put a mothering arm around Edmund as she walked her brother out of the room. "We should probably get a little sleep as well. You look exhausted, Edmund."

Lucy waited for the sound of their footsteps to disappear before she launched forward, throwing her arms around Peter. "Oh, I'm so glad you're all right!" she cried, nuzzling at him. "I was so worried. There was so much blood on the snow and we felt sure you'd been attacked. I felt so terrible, Peter!"

Her fresh tears wet his shirt. With what very little strength he had, he pulled his hand out from beneath the heavy covers and patted her back. "You have nothing... to feel badly about," he said soothingly.

"But I let you go!" exclaimed Lucy. "I knew you were going, and I knew you were sick. And still I did nothing to stop you when I could have."

"Lucy," he whispered weakly, which made her lift her head and look down at him. "You could not have stopped me. My mind was made up." He gave a cough. "But I do not think I could have made it as far as I did without your scarf."

"Oh, Peter!" she cried again, hugging him tightly.

"It's all right," he tried to convince her. "I found Mougrim... and he won't be bothering Narnia ah-again..." He trailed off, a tickley, sneezey feeling overcoming him.

Her hug tightened then she pulled back, looking relieved. At least something had come of her brother nearly dying. She sat back down in the chair and went to pull her handkerchief out to dry her face. But she paused, looking down at Peter, struggling with his sneeze. She giggled and pressed the cloth into his hand.

He lifted it to his face with great appreciation. "ihh-KESHahhh! ihh-HITChooo! ehhh-HETChhhhh!"

"Bless you," she said softly, petting the blankets to smooth them out. "I knew you were coming down with something. Shall I get you some more wine and some fresh handkerchiefs? Maybe another blanket?" she asked, rising to her feet. She had promised Susan she would not stay long, but that did not mean she should simply abandon her eldest brother when he was ill.

Peter nodded shyly, his cheeks a bit flushed and not from fever. He had been wanting to ask for more wine, or at least some juice or water, but had not found the right time to do so. And while he desperately wanted some, it felt a little strange for it to be Lucy fetching it. That was normally Susan's place. He closed his eyes as soon as she left, taking in the warmth of his bed and rubbing a still tickling nose into the handkerchief. Even feeling sick in bed with the sniffles felt better when he remembered that he'd finally found the werewolf and said what needed to be said.

*                      *                      *

"Really... heh-IHHChhhh! Sniff! I... I don't... heh-ihhh-ihhHETChhhh! I don't mind... hehKTSCHHH!" Peter sneezed violently, his nose pink at the end from too much attention though he rubbed it more out of need.

"Really, Peter, we don't mind staying with you," Susan said, tucking the blankets more tightly around his waist though, again, they were already fine and in place. Up until now, they had taken turns sitting by his bedside through his recovery, getting him anything he needed to feel better, which was usually tea or broth or another clean handkerchief. He went through them so quickly with sneezes that they nearly could not retrieve them fast enough. But the snow storm had finally stopped, casting a beautiful blanket of snow over the land and his brother and sisters had seemed anxious to go out and make merry in it.

"Go, have... heh... have fun," he managed, face hidden behind the handkerchief, but his eyes bright and truthful. They all bade him farewell, Edmund did so with a pat on the back, and each of the girls kissed the top of his head. Then they scampered off to dress for the snow and hurry outside quickly before the beautiful sweeps and drifts could be spoiled by others needing to pass through or wanting similarly to play.

Peter waited for them to be gone, then collected several blankets and pulled them around his shoulders to his front warmly. He sniffled, taking an extra handkerchief with him, and walked to the window to look out at the snow. There was quite a lot more of it than he would have imagined for the first snowfall of the year. And though he knew werewolves, especially at the full moon, were very good at staying alive even through ice and snow, he imagined Mougrim was not having a very good time at it, what with the injuries Peter had inflicted upon him.

As he watched out the window, he saw the others running by. His room was up so far that he could barely make them out apart from their royal cloaks and the fact that there were no other Sons of Adam nor Daughters of Eve in the whole of the land that he could possibly confuse them with. They looked to be having a wonderful time, first with snow angels, then with snowball fights. Edmund seemed to win even against both Susan and Lucy, though only just. Their laughter occasionally bounced off the sides of the castle up to his window, making him smile broadly and wish he were down there with them.

"ihhhKUTChuhhhhhh!" Though that was certainly quite out of the question with such a head cold. He pulled the blankets more tightly around himself for warmth, sniffling slightly. His eyes moved up to the sky, looking desperately for a bird. And he finally spotted one, just skirting the trees in the distance. A spotted hawk from the look of it, with something like a mouse clutched in its talons. Peter felt a surge of energy rush through him. He had always wanted to see hawks, and Narnia was full of them. Ones that talked, ones that didn't, and ones that wouldn't say even if they did speak. He smiled and reached over to his dresser for his field book and a quill, making note of the sighting. But the words blurred together the moment he had finished writing them. He leaned against the dresser sniffling. His eyes fluttered closed and his breaths raced. He cupped the handkerchief over his nose and mouth to prepare for the onslaught. "heh...heh-IHHChushhh! ihhhKutchhhh! ihhhKushhhhh! ihhhTchooo!" He snuffled into the handkerchief, gazing back out at the skies. But the hawk had disappeared by then.

He looked down and caught Lucy's eye as she looked up at him. He straightened up to look a bit more regal and gave a wave. She looked suspicious, waved her hand to motion that he should go back to bed, then fell backwards into a snow drift thanks to a playful snowball of Edmund's. He chuckled as she pitched one back at him.

Amused or not, he was fatigued and headed back to bed. He took the blankets with him as he snuggled beneath the rest of his covers, soaking up the warmth and soft as they brushed against his cheek and surrounded his body. He curled in on himself, handkerchief in a ball, pressed to his nose. "huh-KUH-Tchhhh! heh-ihhh-ehhTChuhhhh! Ihhhh-Teshhooo! huhCHOO!" Each sneeze feeling worse and worse to him, each taking more and more effort and robbing him of more and more energy. He was glad he had gone back to his bed when he did, not wanting to think of what it would be like to have his brother and sisters return to find him collapsed on the floor rather than asleep in bed. "heh-TChooo! ehhhh-HUHShooo!" He sniffled into the handkerchief and fell to sleep before he could rub more at his nose. His dreams this time were soft and quiet, and did not stray towards the witch or her werewolf chief of police either.