Disclaimer: Susan, Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.

GENTLE PROTECTOR

"She won't mind," Peter insisted. "She loves Lucy."

"Everyone loves Lucy." Susan pulled her cloak more closely around her shoulders as a sudden gust of wind tried to snatch it into the trees. "And I'm not saying she'd ever deny Lucy anything, but I do think it will worry her."

Edmund gave her his usual scowl as he cantered alongside her, trying to keep control of his skittish mount. "It's a sewing machine, Su. Why should it worry her?"

"You weren't there back then, Ed," she said, forcing herself not to scowl back. She was supposed to be the gentle one after all. "She was very concerned about her old machine, and this one now is the one Father Christmas left for her. It's very special to her, I'm sure."

"That was five years ago." Peter smiled, but he looked more concerned with the darkening sky than the topic of conversation. "It's not as if it's new anymore. She couldn't possibly mind if Lucy learns to sew on it."

Susan smiled sweetly. "All right. Then I suppose you wouldn't mind letting some of the new recruits practice with Rhindon in the next few weeks' drills. After all, it's not new anymore."

"But, uh . . . but . . ." he sputtered, a look of absolute horror in his blue eyes as he put one protective hand over the lion-headed pommel of his sword.

Edmund laughed at him. "She's got you, Pete. Admit it."

"No doubt about it." Peter grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. "You're very sweet to be worried about Mrs. Beaver, Su, but I'm sure Lucy will be very careful. She was invited to come, you know."

"Lucy's quite good at wrangling invitations," Edmund observed, his horse nickering and dancing at another sudden gust of wind, almost forcing Peter's mare off the path.

"Watch it, Ed." Peter patted his mount's neck, frowning at the weather. "Easy there, girl."

Susan glanced up at the sky, too. It was noticeably darker than it had been just a few minutes before, much too dark even for late afternoon, and the wind was picking up. "Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to bring that horse along today, Edmund."

"We'll be home before long. Besides, 'a nice ride' was your idea, remember?"

"It was calm and sunny when we left," she protested. "And that's beside the point. Your horse is practically wild, and Peter's isn't much better."

Edmund smirked. "You sound like Phillip. Anyway, they're not wild. They just need some settling in. What's really bothering you is that you know they're faster than any of the others in our stables, and you don't want us racing again."

"No," she said sternly. "Not after the last time."

Peter chuckled and then ducked his head at the look she shot him, wisely deciding to stay out of this particular portion of the conversation.

"I did say I was sorry." Edmund turned his dark eyes on her, full of pleading penitence. "I didn't know all your, um, uh, things were hanging out behind the stables to dry."

She felt the color rise in her face at the memory of his horse, this particular horse, trampling all of her unmentionables into the dirt for her brothers to gawk at.

"They were hanging there, Edmund, because that's where the laundry is. You know, the place you ride past at least five times a day?"

Seeing the big eyes weren't working for once, he pushed out his lower lip in just the hint of a pout. "Forgive me?"

Peter snickered again, and there was a little tell-tale glint in Edmund's eye. Just as Lucy had a particular look that always got round Peter, Edmund had one for Susan. For Susan and Peter both, really, and he was too well aware of it. Well, not today. He was not getting round her today.

She urged her mount forward, head held high, her only answer resounding silence.

"Awww, Su."

Just as he touched his heels to his horse's sides to catch up to her, there was a blinding flash of lightning and the crash of thunder. The terrified animal reared and bolted, throwing him from his saddle and then dragging him by one stirrup-caught foot into the trees.

"Edmund!" she shrieked as the sky tore open, unleashing driving rain.

"Ed!" Peter spurred his own skittish mount after him. "Edmund!"

Edmund's horse reared again as Peter came up beside it, but Peter forced it against two narrowly spaced trees with his mare. He flung himself out of the saddle, grabbing for the panicked horse's bridle with one hand and, with the other, the stirrup that still snared Edmund's foot.

"Easy. Easy."

Edmund's horse whirled, dragging its fallen rider with it, narrowly missing stomping him under its hooves. The mare shied into the woods as Edmund's horse aimed a kick at Peter's head.

Susan stood in her stirrups. "Peter!"

Peter leapt away, dodging the likely fatal blow, but cracking his forehead on a low branch instead. He muttered something she was glad she couldn't hear over the howling of the storm, and then he managed to snag the pommel of Edmund's saddle and slip the stirrup off Edmund's foot. With a shrill whinny, the horse kicked at him again and then bolted into the dark forest, disappearing as the mare had.

"Peter." Susan slid out of her saddle, hurrying to him as he dropped to his knees in the mud where Edmund lay. "Oh, Peter."

Lightning flashed again, showing Edmund's still face stark white against the blackness of his wet hair and the sodden ground. Peter looked every bit as pale, his golden hair nearly as dark as the thudding rain plastered it to his head.

He glanced at her, blue eyes wide, and then he cupped Edmund's cheek in his hand. "Edmund?"

She pushed the dripping hair from Edmund's forehead. "Peter–"

"We've got to get to shelter." Peter's expression hardened as he scowled up at the pitchy sky. "We'll never get him home in this."

"We still have my horse. Maybe between the two of us–"

Peter shook his head and then winced, swiping at the blackening bruise above his left eye. "One of us would have to ride with him and hold him in the saddle. Your horse couldn't take the weight, and the ride would be too hard on Edmund anyway. Besides, it's too dark now. We've got to take shelter till the storm clears."

"But–"

"There's a cave down there near the river. Help me."

Susan nodded. Of course Peter would know what to do in a situation like this. She had her own areas of expertise in ruling the kingdom, but here in the forest, he knew what was best.

She was thankful she wasn't here alone with Edmund to care for, hurt as he was. Oh, she could tend him and soothe him and mother him, those things were specifically in her province, but Peter was better able to decide what to do. Peter would watch over them and defend them. She hadn't the experience or the strength for any of that, especially not out here in the wild. Her brothers had always seen to such things.

Peter put his arms under Edmund's shoulders and knees and stood up, staggering a little as he did. At fifteen, Edmund was battle hardened and growing tall, but he was still thin as a lathe. Sick, hurt or merely exhausted, he had never been too much for Peter to lift.

She steadied them both. "Are you all right?"

Peter winced again and then nodded towards the rushing river. "This way."

He and Edmund knew every inch of the forest around Cair Paravel, and this wasn't the first time she was glad of it. She followed him downstream until they came to a dark opening in the rocks. Peter had to duck his head to get inside.

She hesitated at the entrance, not sure what to do with the horse she was leading.

"Bring him in," Peter shouted over the howling of the wind and the hard pelting of the rain on the leaves.

It was pitch black inside the cave, but she could tell by the feel of it, by the echos of the horse's hooves, that the place was high enough for Peter to stand straight once he was inside and large enough to house them all for a time.

She left the animal near the entrance once she had found a rock large enough to anchor the reins. Then she went to Peter, guided by the sound of his hard breathing as he laid their brother on the ground.

He found her hand in the darkness. "Stay with him a minute."

She sat down where he guided her, and he settled Edmund's head in her lap. She was sorry she had nothing better to pillow him than her sodden skirts, but she put her cloak and her arms around him, trying to warm them both. He never moved.

For a while, she could hear Peter scrabbling around in the darkness for something, and then she heard the click of flint on steel. She saw a some orange sparks followed by a faint glow. With a few quick breaths, Peter urged the glow into a flame and then lit a torch.

"Ed and I were here in the spring." He propped up the torch between some rocks against the wall beside them, making light enough for her to see that droplets of water still stood on his cheeks and in his eyelashes. "We thought it might be worth exploring, but only a few yards back, it gets too small to get through."

"I'm glad you left a torch behind you." She looked from his pale face to Edmund's and back again. "Peter, what are we going to do?"

Maybe it was only the flickering torchlight, but his expression looked a little unfocused as he knelt at her side. Still, he smiled, and she knew that smile, his reassuring smile. She needed that smile.

"We're going to be fine, Su. Really. Haven't I always looked after you both?"

She nodded, smiling in return, knowing he was right, knowing he would see they were all taken care of, and then she looked again at their younger brother lying limp in her arms. He was frighteningly pale, and even in the dim, flickering light of the torch, she could see he was cut and bruised all over. She pressed two fingers to the side of his neck and was relieved to feel his pulse beating steadily. Then she laid her hand on his chest. His breathing was slow, a little shallow, but at least it was regular.

"Listen to his breathing, Peter. Can you tell if he's all right?"

Peter blinked at her for a second, and then he leaned down a put his ear against Edmund's chest.

"Sounds clear enough," he said after a few taut seconds. "We've got to . . . "

She looked at him when his voice trailed off. "Peter?"

He shook his head as if to clear it, and then he sat up straighter. "Got to . . . "

He swayed a little, and she reached over and turned his face to one side so she could see him better in the uncertain light.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

He touched his fingers to his bruised forehead and his smile turned apologetic. "I just need to lie down for a moment. Just . . . need to . . ."

His eyelids fluttered shut as he sat back on his heels, bracing himself with one hand, and then he sagged to the ground beside her, out cold.

"Oh, Peter."

The words came out in a scarcely audible breath, half choked with the tears that threatened. She needed him now. She couldn't do this by herself. She didn't even know how she was going to get Edmund back to the Cair. How was she supposed to take care of Peter, too? How was she supposed to do this without at least one of her pigheaded, stupidly brave and able brothers to get them all out of this mess?

"Aslan, please–"

As if in answer, lightning tore the sky once again, the thunder booming in the same instant, and with a screaming neigh, her horse thrashed against its restraints. She pushed Edmund's head off her lap and leapt to her feet. She couldn't lose their last remaining mount.

But she only managed to scare the poor beast worse than it already was. It tore away from her, and she ran out into the rain after it.

"No!"

She shrieked out her frustration as her horse disappeared into the unrelieved blackness of the night. The tears she had managed to hold back came out in a sudden flood, mingling with the cold rain that lashed her skin. She wanted to sink to the muddy ground and wail, but she knew that was no help. Instead she lifted her face to the sky.

"Aslan." she whispered. "Help me. I don't know what to do."

"Courage."

She caught her breath, not sure if she heard His voice in the storm or only in her head. It was there all the same.

"Aslan?" She stood listening, but there was nothing now but the howling of the wind. "Aslan!"

She stood straining to hear Him again, getting wetter and wetter. Still there was nothing.

"Aslan, please."

Nothing.

She pulled her sodden cloak more closely around her and trudged back into the cave.

Courage. She needed to be strong, as Peter and Edmund would be in this situation. She didn't have them to lean on now. It was up to her to get them out of danger and back home. Perhaps she could get Peter back on his feet, and between the two of them–

She drew closer to the flickering torchlight and then froze where she stood.

"Peter? What are you–"

"Get back."

The look on his face was fierce. Intense. Frightening. It was his warrior grimace, an expression she had seen only rarely from him and never turned towards her.

He was on one knee, his left arm around Edmund, dragging their brother's limp frame halfway off the ground. In his right hand, he held Rhindon, unsheathed, brandishing it at her, warding her away.

"Get back," he snarled again. "Get back. I won't let you have him."

She stood where she was, afraid to move. She and Lucy both knew not to startle their brothers awake. They both knew to stand at least half again the length of a broadsword away before waking them at all. She hadn't forgotten. But this–

"Peter, it's all right. It's me. It's only me."

Eyes narrowed, he stared at her for a long time, and then his ferocious expression melted into soft wonder.

"Mum."

She blinked. "No, Peter, it's me. It's–"

He looked wary again, unsure. "Mum?"

She smiled, making her expression as unthreatening as she could. She couldn't lose him again. "It's all right."

Lucy often told her she looked like their mother, though she wasn't sure how much either of them actually remembered Mum now. She prayed that, at least for the moment, Lucy was right. She had to get to Edmund.

"It's all right, Rabbit. I'm here."

It was a name she could only just remember, their mother's pet name for her first born, one Mum had made the mistake of using in front of his schoolmates when he was six. And when he was older, tiny Lucy had started calling him Peter Rabbit, and he'd been too captivated by her little voice and bright eyes to object. Susan thanked Aslan the name had come back to her just now.

"Rabbit," She said once more, reaching her hand towards him.

His lower lip trembled, and his blue eyes filled with guilty tears. "I'm sorry, Mum. I tried. I really did."

His voice was small and unsure, and she could tell by the way he winced that his head was hurting him.

"I know, darling," she murmured, trying to remember just how their mother might have said it, low and calm. "It's all right. Just–"

"Eddie fell, and I can't make him wake up." He pulled Edmund closer to him. "I tried to look after him like you said."

"I know you did, darling. I know. Lie down now, and I'll take care of him."

She took a swift step towards him, too swift, and he drew back, eyes again narrowed, still with his sword point towards her throat.

"No." He shook his head, his grip on the sword and on their brother tightening until his knuckles were white. "No."

Careful. Careful.

"Rabbit," she soothed, and his eyes flashed.

"No!"

Aslan, give me strength. Give me courage. Give me wisdom.

Steeling herself, she put her hands on her hips and made her expression stern.

"Peter William Pevensie, behave yourself and get back to bed this minute."

Startled, he reddened beyond the fevered flush that was already on his face and dropped his eyes. "Sorry, Mum."

She put out one hand, willing it not to tremble, and he meekly turned Rhindon over to her, hilt first.

"Now, go on and lie down," she ordered. "Go on."

He did as he was told, sinking down on the bare ground, tucking insensible Edmund close to his side. She leaned the heavy blade against the cave wall, well out of his reach, and then at last she knelt beside her brothers. Peter was gone again, eyes closed, mouth slack, breathing slow and steady. She felt his forehead, careful of the deep bruise there. He was definitely feverish, he certainly didn't know what he was saying, but otherwise he seemed reasonably out of danger.

She wished she could say the same for Edmund. There didn't seem to be an inch of him that wasn't bloodied and bruised and scraped. She wanted to cry again. She could still see him with that playful pout, asking her pardon. She knew he hadn't much meant it, the apology, any more than he had meant any real harm when he'd crashed into her laundry, but she might have easily forgiven him when he asked. Instead she had flounced away from him, refusing him a response of any kind. What if she could never speak to him again?

No use thinking that now, she scolded herself. That wouldn't help anything.

She used the sodden hem of her skirt to clean him up a bit, wondering if she should give him something to drink. No, his breathing was too shallow for that, his skin too clammy. He needed to stay warm. She hoped, between her and Peter, he would be warm enough. Perhaps she should–

She froze where she was, hearing something at the entrance to the cave, something large, something that breathed loud enough for her to hear it over the storm. She glanced at Rhindon, leaning still against the wall of the cave, just a faint, silver glimmer in the torchlight, and then she looked at Peter, senseless there on the ground.

Oh, Peter. Peter, wake up. What should I do?

She didn't know if she should challenge whatever had come into the cave or if she should simply stay still and hope it didn't realize she was there. No, whatever it was, it could no doubt detect the scent of human in the cave. No doubt it already knew they were there.

As quietly as she could, she slipped over to the cave wall and lifted Rhindon in both hands. She wished she had her bow or even a dagger. The sword was too heavy for her. She couldn't possibly–

"Ah. I thought I smelled human."

The lightning flashed, and Susan saw the shaggy outline of a massive Wolf.

"What do you want?"

"A little shelter. A little sleep." He chuckled, showing his gleaming white teeth. "A little supper."

She managed to raise the sword and point it at him. "Get out."

"That storm's pretty bad, and you're not being very hospitable."

"I said get out."

Again he chuckled. "Not when something here smells so delicious. There are at least two more of you, aren't there? And one of them . . ." He licked his lips, his red tongue lolling like a playful dog's. "One of them is hurt. I can smell the blood."

She only set her jaw, keeping Rhindon's point trained on his broad chest. She remembered the day Peter had killed Maugrim and won his spurs. She remembered Peter thrusting Rhindon up into the Wolf's heart, killing him instantly. It was what she would have to do. If she couldn't convince this Wolf to leave, it was what she would have to do.

Courage.

She forced herself not to shake. Peter had been only thirteen then, and she had never blamed him for his fright or his tears once he had made that first kill. Could she be as brave? She would have to be.

"Come on, Daughter of Eve," this Wolf coaxed, "we can make some kind of agreement, can't we? I'm tired, and I just want a place to rest for the night."

"You want to eat us all!"

"Don't be ridiculous."

She glared at him, angry that, on top of everything else, he would dare lie to her. "You just said you wanted supper."

"True. True. But I don't want to eat you all." He grinned, once more showing his fangs. "Just one of you would be plenty for tonight."

He came towards her, circling a little to her left, and she could smell him now, the smell of wet dog. She followed him with Rhindon's point, keeping it and herself between the Wolf and her brothers. Peter. Peter, wake up.

"Get out now," she said, keeping her voice calm and cold as she took a step back. "Get out or I will kill you."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." The Wolf still tried to circle around her, but he lifted his head now, sniffing and then licking his black lips. "Just give me the wounded one. He probably won't live the night anyway. Give him to me, and I promise I won't touch you or the other one. What could be more fair?"

She didn't bother to respond to that. She only took another step back. Her arms were trembling now, her hands were aching with trying to hold the sword steady. Aslan, please. I can't–

Once more she took a step backwards, and then she stumbled, sprawling on her back as the Wolf snarled and sprang.

"Aslan!"

Eyes screwed shut, head turned away, she thrust the blade up into the Wolf's warm flesh. With a yelp, it lurched and then collapsed on top of her, smothering her in hot, sodden fur and wet dog stench. She lay there for a long moment, the only sound the still-howling storm and her own gasping breaths. Finally she wriggled out from under it.

Panting and exhausted, she got to her feet and then turned the Wolf onto his back. Rhindon was buried deep in his heart. It took every bit of the strength she could muster to pull the sword free and then take it out to the wet grass to clean it.

When she came back, she stood for a moment beside the dead Wolf. She couldn't just leave him there, eyes and mouth open wide, black lips and gleaming teeth still grinning. She couldn't.

She grabbed the back legs of the carcase and dragged it out into the night. She managed to get it close to the riverbank and, with a shove, she rolled it into the river. Then, teeth chattering, she stood for a moment in the driving rain, letting it cool and wash her face and hands. Aslan, Aslan–

Courage, she heard Him say again, and she managed a worn smile as she returned to her brothers. Courage.

Peter still had Edmund pulled protectively close to him, and she knelt beside them, patting Peter's face and then cupping his cheek in her hand.

"Peter? Peter."

His eyes fluttered open, and there was a little twitch of a smile at one corner of his mouth. "Goodnight, Mum."

He leaned into her hand, closing his eyes again, and then he sagged heavily against her. She stroked his cheek, deciding to let him sleep for now, and then she turned to Edmund. His breathing was slow and even, but he was still ghost-pale and he showed no sign of consciousness.

"Edmund?" she whispered, but she really didn't want to wake him either.

He needed sleep. They all did.

As best she could, she put her arms around both boys and closed her eyes.

The next thing she realized was that something was different. What was it? The quiet. The howl and crash of the storm was gone, replaced with only the early-morning twittering of the birds. She was too tired to open her eyes, so she just lay there on the ground. Then she realized that, somehow, she was warm now and almost comfortable. Behind her, she heard voices though they weren't talking to her, low voices, voices she recognized.

Her eyes snapped open. "Oreius?"

Peter hurried over to her, bruised and smiling and obviously clear headed. "Susan. It's all right. They've found us. Your horse bolted back to the Cair, and they followed his tracks here."

He helped her to her feet, keeping the woolen blanket wrapped around her shoulders, but she only clutched his arm.

"Where's Edmund?"

"He's fine. He's right here."

Peter turned her around, and she saw Edmund swaddled in blankets and held securely in the Centaur general's brawny arms. He managed a weary grin when he noticed her, and she was relieved to see that his eyes, though half shut, were clear.

"Hullo, Su."

"Edmund." She went to him and pushed back the fringe of black hair that seemed forever in his eyes. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been beaten with sticks."

"He will be well, Majesty," Oreius assured her. "Some scrapes and bruises. A badly wrenched ankle. All a matter of a few days' rest, no more."

Edmund lifted one dark brow. "Right. If you're a Centaur."

She touched a kiss to her brother's somehow-undamaged nose. "I forgive you."

He smiled fuzzily. "Uh, thank you. I'm glad. Ummm . . . for?"

It didn't matter that he'd asked her pardon many hours ago. She was glad it wasn't too late now to give it to him.

She tucked the blanket up under his chin and kissed his nose again. "Go to sleep. We'll talk about it later."

He closed his eyes, and she smiled at the Centaur.

"Thank you."

"My Queen." Oreius nodded gravely and carried Edmund out into the fresh sunshine.

Peter put his arm around her shoulders. "See? Nothing happened to us. I told you I'd look after you both."

He flashed her that smile again, that reassuring smile that said he would always protect her, and she gave him an especially tender smile in return.

"I never doubted you."

She stood tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and he folded her in his arms. With her face pressed against his chest, her whisper was too low for him to hear.

"I love you, Rabbit."

Author's Note: I've been fighting with Susan over this story since February. I really thought that she would be pleased to have the starring role and a role that showed her she was more capable than she originally believed, but somehow that wasn't good enough for her. It wasn't until I let her kill the Wolf that she finally agreed to cooperate, so if anything in this story is stupid, I'm blaming it on her. This story is part of the 24 in 24 Authors' Challenge.

–WD