Goodness, this has taken longer than I expected. I mentioned writing a Narnia fic to elecktrum a couple weeks ago. Not until just now did I finish it. Anyhow, enjoy!

It was not so far, Lucy told herself. Not so far at all. Only down the hall, through the archway, up the stairs and then she was there. It was not the distance that dissuaded her, but what was in the distance. In the halls there were shadows; on the stairs there were spectors, dancing on the walls, wavering unsteadily in the flickering light of her candle. She lowered her blankets, which were pulled over her head, and peered about her. Her bedchamber, normally so cozy, seemed alien and strange to her without the light of day or the glow of tapers. The last thing she wanted was to leave her bed--which was, at least, relatively safe--and step into that vast darkness.

But she had only to make it to Peter's room. Only that far, and then she was safe. She could risk the shadows and the spectors for that long.

She took a moment, debating. It wasn't as though she was all alone. Her eyes turned to the bell that rested just within reach on her bedside table. One ring, and the sharp ears of the bobcat guard (his name started with an K, but that was all she could remember; he was new) would pick it up, and he would be by her side. But a bobcat was hardly the same as her brother. Her brother who had strong arms to hold her close and safe. With him, she couldn't be afraid. With every moment she spent thinking about Peter, the more frightening her room became, until at last she threw her bedcovers off and went scrambling for the door. The hallway had a few slender torches burning in hangings on the wall. That was good; she wouldn't have to carry her own candle.

"My queen?" Came a voice behind her, and she jumped, quite frightened. It was the bobcat. He approached from nowhere, seeming to come out of the shadows. He was large for his kind, and his claws were jutting out of his large paws. Lucy realized that perhaps, she had startled him into thinking that she was in some kind of trouble. His large, rounded eyes swept the hall for danger than raised them to stare at Lucy.

"Oh! I didn't mean to startle you." She said quickly. Bobcats were very nice, but a little intimidating. He wouldn't be angry at her, but it never hurt to apologize.

"That's quite all right, Queen Lucy." He sat down, pulling his claws back into his padded feet. "Might I enquire as to where you are going, your majesty?" Lucy decided she liked him. He spoke with a sense of dry humor that made him very amiable. But she wasn't sure just yet whether to tell him that his "queen" was frightened of the dark. Well, not really the dark; she had slept in that same room for months now without the slightest bit of fear. Now that she truly thought about it, Lucy wasn't sure what she was afraid of at all.

The bobcat seemed to understand her dilemma. "Shall I escort you somewhere, your majesty?"

"I should like that very much!" Lucy felt much better having someone to walk with.

"Where to, then, my lady?"

"To King Peter's room, please."

He smiled, revealing his delicately pointed teeth. "Of course, your highness." He was very nice, thought Lucy. Suddenly, it occurred to her she had neglected her manners.

"I am terribly sorry, but…I've forgotten your name." She said the last bit all in a rush of embarrasment.

"Kithlin, your majesty."

"Then thank you, Kithlin."

"Not at all, your majesty."

They had made it quite far down the hall now, and passed the other guard, a muscular hunting dog. He bowed as they came by, but did not speak. Going this way, they soon made it to the stairs, reaching the top quickly, and once they reached the next level of the Castle, there were more torches. The corridor was long, but Peter's door was very close to the stairs. Lucy let go of Kithlin's fur and said, "Thank you very much! You can go if you like."

Nilkins simply bowed and melted back into the shadows. There were guards in this corridor too, of course, because Peter was High King, and people in the castle seemed to be quite paranoid about it, but they were not lingering outside her brother's door like Nilkins had been outside hers. They were several yards away, and Lucy guessed that it was because Peter had told them not to hover. That made her smile. Her dear, stubborn brother. The guards, naturally, did not try to stop her as she pushed open the door and stepped in.

Peter's room was different from any of his siblings. Lucy's was full of color and large soft chairs that she could sit in. Susan's had a large closet and many shelves of books. Edmund's room had even more books than Susan, although it was nicely set off by a large collection of more military things. But while the other children's rooms were reflections of themselves, Peter's seemed almost bare in comparison. Of course he had the kind of things a king ought to have, like banners and mirrors and swords, but it was a very unlived-in space. Peter only slept there. His time was divided between politics and his family. There was hardly enough time for him to be alone in this room. In fact, probably no time. But Peter didn't seem to mind. He liked to be surrounded by people he was fond of. Lucy was sure he'd go mad if left to his own devices for more than a few days.

She approached Peter's bed from the right. It was a huge bed, big enough that it could (and had, on occaision) fit all four siblings with plenty of room to spare. She crawled as quietly as she could up onto one side, scooting forward slowly, feeling with her hands for the familiar shape of her brother.

She reached the other side without ever encountering it.

"Peter?" Lucy swallowed hard. She felt through the sheets again, cautiously this time, paying better attention. There was no denying it. Peter was not there. A lump came to her throat and she clutched the sheets tightly.

There was a serious risk of bursting into relieved tears when she felt Peter's hand come down soft on her shoulder. "Lucy?" He said. She turned around to look at him. Only his outline was visible, silhouetted in the light that came in from the balcony. His expression couldn't be determined.

"Peter! Where have you been?"

The bed groaned a little as Peter settled onto it. "I'm sorry, Lu. Have a bad dream?"

"No," she answered, quite honestly. "I was a bit frightened, that's all."

"Come to sleep in my room, that it?"

"Yes. But where have you been? I was looking for you."

"Are you wanting to go to bed right now?"

"I'm not tired anymore."

"Good, then. Come with me." He took her hand gently in his own and helped her down. With a start, Lucy realized that even Peter's hands had changed. Before Narnia, they had always been soft, but with a certain strength. Now, she could feel callouses in his palm, brought on, she supposed, by always hefting Rhindon about. In place of the simple strength of before, there was a fiercer power, and Lucy knew that if he squeezed as hard as he could, it would probably break a finger or two. But she knew he wouldn't squeeze too hard. Peter always knew exactly how gently to hold her hand.

They had reached the balcony, and a soft tapping noise was audible, just over the swishing of the wind. It took a moment, but at last, in the moonlight, Lucy could identify where the noise was coming from. "Oh, it's raining!" She cried. Rain in Narnia was very unlike rain anywhere else. It never came drenching from the skies, pouring in sheets, rather, it came in light, refreshing drops.

"Now look straight across there. Can you see them?"

"See what?"

"Just look, there, in the waves." Lucy could see nothing but the waves, cresting in the breeze, looking very majestic, but it was nothing she hadn't seen before. She gave her brother a quizzical look, and he nodded his head back at the sea. With a sigh, Lucy looked too, trying to follow her brother's eyes. It had just occurred to her that perhaps her brother was dreaming when a flash of color caught her eye. And suddenly, she could see them. Mermaids, dancing in and out of the water, barely visible unless you kept your eyes right on them.

"Oh, Peter! What are they doing?"

"It must be a dance. They're probably glad of the rain."

"Were you watching them before?"

"Only for a moment. Then I heard you in there, making a racket." Lucy nudged him and looked out.

There was a contented silence between them. The light from the moon was bright out here, and Lucy could see the sea better now. It was a strange dance the mermaids were doing. She looked up to see if Peter noticed. He hadn't. His eyes were on the stars, like they always were. After all, Aslan had dedicated the clear Northern sky to him. Up there, in the heavens…that was Peter's kingdom. He was always looking up. It was an affectionate joke in Cair Paravel that if you wanted to hide something from Peter, just place it on the ground and he would never see it. A sharp splash brought Lucy's eyes back to the sea. The mermaids swam from wave to wave, leaping here, and diving there. She squinted her eyes and stepped forward a little more, slipping her hand from Peter's. Now that she looked, it wasn't a very pretty dance, not like the dances she had seen them do in the spring, all twirls and laughter. No, she thought, this dance wasn't pretty at all.

"Peter…" She began, but was cut short as the door to the High King's chamber flew open. A faun, panting and wet, made a quick bow as the two children stepped in from the balcony.

"My king!" He said, in the quiet voice of his kind. His legs were trembling, whether from the rain or from effort, Lucy didn't know.

"Speak, good messenger." Peter replied. His grip tightened on Lucy's hand.

"The merfolk have brought news, your highness, terrible news! They say that there is slaughter in the north, in the seas near the Ettinsmoor. They request your presence, sire."

Peter released Lucy, opening the chest at the foot of his bed, and pulled Rhindon, sheathed, but still gleaming in the faint light from it. He strapped it on, and its presence made him seem king, even though he had only a tunic and lightweight breeches for raiment. "Lead the way, good faun." He knelt quickly in front of Lucy taking both her hands in his. "And you must go to Susan's room. Tell her not to worry."

"But Peter!" She started to protest, but got out no more than that.

Peter and the faun were already gone.

It was something that Peter would never be used to. The pain of his subjects always left an acrid taste in his mouth and an itch in his hands. It was a constant struggle, keeping them all safe. Instead of getting easier, it simply became harder. Remnants of Jadis's followers were everywhere, and stomping them out was becoming a daunting task. This last year had been spent tracking down hags and werewolves and the like. Most of them were gone from Narnia itself. But the Ettinsmoor was still riddled with deviants, creatures so evil you could almost smell it when you neared them. If it was slaughter the merfolk spoke of, then it was guaranteed to be in the north.

That acrid taste filled his mouth as the faun walked quickly ahead. Peter wished he could run, but it was against the code of nobility that he do so. A pair of centaurs, both female, flanked them silently, a quiet guard for the king. They were away from Cair Paravel now, and close enough to the beach to hear the merfolk. Peter wished he couldn't. It was an awful sound, a haunting mixture of singing and screeching, a funeral dirge of the water. What once had seemed a dance was suddenly a mourning march. The rain, once so gentle, seemed suddenly harsh. Each drop felt like a needle against Peter's skin.

As they came to the beach, another centaur, standing knee deep in the waves, turned and came charging back at them. Peter felt a surge of relief as Oreius inclined his head in a centaurian bow, trampling to a stop. "My king. Jateneu is here. His pod brings evidence of a great tragedy. I will not tell you not to see it, but…it would be wise to use discretion with your siblings, my king. Particularly your sisters."

Peter nodded. The Podleader raised his torso from the water and pulled himself slightly onto the sand, just enough that the water still broke over his fin at each wave. Jateneu was a very large merman, with strong arms and a powerful tail. Two mermaids waited just off the shore. "My king," He said, bowing his head and curling his fin with respect. "I will not waste words. There is no time. My kindred are being massacred in the north. We ask for the protection of Cair Paravel."

Peter kept his face impassive, but inside felt a sickening lurch. An army. They were asking for a defensive strike. "I trust your word, good cousin, but General Oreius spoke of proof."

With nothing more than a sharp whistle from Jataneu, the two mermaids behind him dove. They were gone for only a few seconds before they broke surface again, each struggling with something in their arms. They dragged themselves to Jateneu's side, and Peter had to bite his tongue to keep his stomach calm as they dropped their burdens.

Two mermaids, their beautiful faces contorted, lay lifeless on the sand. But it was only their torsos, for where their shining tails should have begun, there was an empty space, and only a great circle of carnage, bloody and mangled just below their hip bones remained. Peter closed his eyes. Oreius had been right. His sisters could never see this.

Jataneu gave the king a moment before continuing. "My pod left these waters a week ago and traveled north. We hoped to see our kindred, a great pod of nearly a hundred. We found only one alive, and he died on our journey back here. He told us of a great battle, between his kin and creatures of the land. They came in boats with tools of war. They killed them all, taking their tails for meat and discarding the inedible portion back into the ocean. We bring only these two sisters as evidence of the truth. We leave them for you to study and bury." He turned sad, green eyes on the corpses, then met Peter's gaze. "My king, there is an unspeakable evil in the Ettinsmoor. We ask only justice. Farewell, High King. May your judgement be sound." He turned, and with a flick of his powerful tail, was gone. The mermaids followed. The waves were silent again.

Oreius came to Peter's side, staring out into the sea. "Your orders, my king?"

Peter's hand came slowly up from his side to rest on Rhindon't hilt, his fingers tracing the delicate lion's head etched there. He spoke quietly but powerfully. "Wake my brother."

"Your brother, highness?"

"Yes, General." Peter turned curtly on his heel, and Oreius caught a flash of angry determination in his eyes. "We're calling a council of war."

Thanks for reading (and reviewing)!