Prologue: Peter

His head was fuzzy...

The first thing he noticed were the coats - they were awfully familiar, and completely out of place. He reached to push them out of the way, and in doing so he noticed a second thing: he was suddenly much smaller, limbs and fingers shorter than they had been moments before. Out of the haziness in his head popped a forgotten phrase - Alice in Wonderland.

The third thing was that threshold of the wardrobe was a bit nearer than he'd expected - the fourth was that he was about to fall on his face - and the fifth was that all three of his siblings were about to land on top of him.

Oomph.

"Susan, will you get off my leg!" A groan. "I would if you'd get off my arm, Ed!"
"That's not me, that's Lucy-"
And from Lucy, a plaintive wail. That was enough to make Peter shove the other two off his back and onto the floor next to him - he took Lucy's little hand, but hang on - it was much too small - hang on -

"Hang on - what -"
The three younger Pevensies looked up at him expectantly - but it wasn't the Pevensies that he'd been with just moments ago. These three were just children - they were -

"Yes. You've come back. Welcome home."

Peter whirled around. Professor Kirke stood at the door, cricket ball in hand, smiling at them.

They sat silently in the austere light of the formal dining room. Susan was staring hard into her cup of cocoa. Edmund kept blinking and shaking his head, like he was trying to dislodge water from his ear. Lucy was curled into her chair, hands over her eyes and shoulders trembling.

Peter bent to grab a newspaper from the pile next to the hearth. 22 June 1938. Of course it was. Why hadn't he been able to remember that a moment ago?

Because for the four of them, fifteen years had passed since 22 June 1938. They'd been about to celebrate Peter's 30th birthday. And now he was half that age. Again. But he was still 29, wasn't he? Those fifteen years had been real, hadn't they? It was like trying to remember a dream - the details kept slipping away from him.

He stared around the room. Susan, all of twelve now, he remembered, looked leggy and awkward; Lucy was baby-faced and barely four feet tall. And Edmund - the last time Edmund had looked like that -

It was strange, because he had been riding all afternoon in the Western Woods with another Edmund, when he had been another Peter. Now all he could see was the Edmund who had sent a cricket ball through Professor Kirke's window this morning. This Edmund had called Peter and Susan beastly at breakfast because they'd tried to make him eat his whole bowl of porridge ("It is ghastly, but some children don't have anything to eat right now at all."). This Edmund had lied to their faces last night about going through the wardrobe, had made both Peter and Susan red in the face from shouting, had made little Lucy cry herself to sleep. When he'd been riding with the other Edmund a few hours ago, all those memories had been nothing, long-forgotten, distant dreams...

Now they were now. And the other Edmund, the other Susan, the other Lucy - they were the dreams. He didn't want to believe that those lives were gone - they couldn't be - but they certainly weren't here, in England. He'd left them there, in Narnia...

Best to get back straight away, then. The others jumped slightly as Peter's voice broke the silence: "I don't care what the professor says about not being able to get back through the wardrobe. There's got to be a way. Somehow."

Professor Kirke chose that moment to re-enter the room with his second mug of cocoa in hand. All three older Pevensies looked up at him in anticipation, Peter a bit guiltily. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the professor waved him down.

"You can't use the wardrobe. It's only for children, and - well, you're not exactly children anymore, are you?"

None of them knew quite what to say to that.

"Please, sir, don't you know any other way?" Susan asked after a moment had passed.

He hesitated again, an exhausted look washing over his features. He took a long drink and wiped his glasses clean before speaking.

"Well...there is one possibility."

Every head shot up, even Lucy's. "Go on!" Edmund urged.

"...There's an older way than the wardrobe. Older, even, then the magic rings that we used when I was a child. It's very secret - truly ancient - and not entirely nice, I should warn you." He squinted, hands twisting. "There's something ... dark, about them. Not evil! But rather dark."

"We're not afraid, sir. We can handle it. We have to get back," Edmund said, and Peter's heart leapt. For a moment he heard only the Narnian Edmund, the one always who said exactly what Peter was about to say, except that Edmund tended to put things a bit more bluntly. But when he looked at Edmund's face, it was the child's face, fierce and hungry, the not the king's face, that looked back at him.

The professor continued. "I'm quite certain you can, Edmund. It's just that - the way back is rather complicated. I'm fairly certain I know more about this old way than anyone else on earth, but there are certain mysteries about them that even I don't understand..."

Peter frowned, narrowing his eyes. The only light in the room came from the fireplace; from his position at the far end of the table, the old professor's face was cast with shadows. Peter sat back down at the table across from him and waited for Professor Kirke to make eye contact with him before speaking.

"Sir, what is it you're describing exactly? Is it an 'it', or a 'them'?"

The professor sighed slightly and set his mug to one side. "It's a set, a set of pieces for an ancient game. Four pieces here, four in Narnia, and dozens or hundreds more in worlds besides. As I understand it, they work something like magnets, pulling towards each other with supernatural speed and inexorable force. If you're holding on to one when it activates, you'll be pulled back through into the world it's from. You have to use your own charge in order to activate the pull between the sets, of course. Otherwise they lie dormant."

"How do you mean, 'charge'? Where did you learn all this?"

"Don't interrupt, Ed," Peter chided.

"I'm only curious-"

"I'm sure he was about to say-"

"Indeed, I should have explained right away. The charge, the connection, is in your blood. Every individual person has a certain - polarity, and when you spill a bit of your blood onto one of the pieces, it'll take you back to where your polarity is orientated. I found out the messy way that my particular polarity is toward Earth. I cannot use any one of the four pieces to return to Narnia."

"Then will we be able to?" Susan interjected.

The professor examined each of them in turn, before continuing. Peter glanced around. They were all entranced.

"Yes. I expect you will. Kings - those of royal blood - have multiple polarities, because their blood is tied in some way to that of every other ruler in the universe. Anywhere a king has lived, another king can go. If you have a few drops of royal blue blood, you can simply think of where you'd like to go, dip the piece into the blood, and the piece takes you there. In very ancient times, kings raced through all the different worlds, chasing each other back and forth, to worlds' ends. They made it a game, hunting each other down. There's an old rhyme: Queens and Kings may hold the keys/ Kings and Queens may go'ast they please."

He paused, and Peter knew he was pondering how much to tell them. When no one said anything, the professor spoke again. "Kingsblood, the game was called. You need the blood of a King to play, and the object of the game is to obtain as much of it as you can."

Lucy shivered and Susan made a face. After a moment, Edmund made to interject again, but the professor held up a hand, frowning.

"I learned all this from a dying man - more than that I won't say." Everyone's eyes widened, except Edmund's.

"No, I was going to say that 'goast' isn't really a word."

"Shut it, Ed," Peter said.

"Well it isn't!"

Professor Kirke chuckled. "Indeed not."

"But you say there are four -" Susan said.

"In the original set for this world, yes-"

Peter looked up at him sharply: "Then that's perfect -"

"It would be, except that I only ever found three," he said, his face turning tired again. "I spent years and years trying to retrieve the last, but with no success. You can imagine how intensely those who know what they are would desire them. Very dangerous, to let them fall into the wrong hands. I was very fortunate to find the ones that I did. I've been guarding them as well as I can ever since. Hiding them. Just the three."

The professor leaned back in his chair and took another long drink of cocoa. A long silence followed his words, Peter, Edmund, and Susan exchanging tense looks. Lucy was scrubbing at her nose, staring hard at the floor.

"Well three's better than none," Peter ventured. "I say it's worth a try."

"But how do we decide which of us goes through?" asked Edmund.

There was another awkward silence. Peter hated to admit it, but he was half-hoping someone would offer to stay behind. He knew no one would, though. Why should they? Narnia was home to all of them. He was beginning to suspect that the others were all waiting for him to volunteer. As the oldest, perhaps he ought to...

"We could take it in turns, perhaps," Edmund stated. "If these things work as Professor Kirke says, we ought to be able to pop over and back at will."

"No guarantee of that, my lad, but theoretically yes, you should be able to."

"So who goes first...?"

"What about a vote?" Susan finally suggested. Lucy had been sitting quietly through the entire conversation (Peter had begun to wonder if she was falling asleep), but that question got her full attention. "How could that possibly be a good idea?" she snapped.

"She's right, it's stupid -" Edmund began.

"Don't be rude. It's the only way that's really fair, isn't it?" Peter cut in. "And you said yourself we have to get back."

"Perhaps a silent vote," Professor Kirke said. "You can each write down a name and pass it to me, and if one name gets more votes than the others - I won't even say who it is, I'll just come find the three of you at a time when the other isn't around. You can go and come back and the fourth might never know -"
"Of course he will though, he'll know by the time we go home at least-"

"He or she," Susan corrected Edmund.

"It wouldn't be personal, Ed, it's just who's going to be most useful when we're there -" Peter started, and Professor Kirke finished for him: "-Or perhaps the three that go through using the old way can ask Aslan to bring the fourth through His way. I'm certain He would help you."

"...that makes sense, I suppose," Edmund said.

"So we're agreed then? Whoever stays behind won't be a sore loser? No feelings hurt?"

Edmund eventually nodded; Lucy made no comment. Susan stood to get writing materials from the desk. Her voice and bearing took on the authority she had often adopted when dictating regal announcements or issuing commands to subjects.

"Then take a paper and pencil, and make a quick decision..."

But when she'd handed them out, everyone simply looked at each other awkwardly, no one writing anything just yet. Susan slumped back into her seat; Peter was sure she had just realized how uncomfortable the decision was, having just realized the same thing himself. He didn't want to think about what all was going through the others' heads.

Who ought he to choose? Not Lucy, surely; they all knew they fought with each other horribly when she wasn't around to smooth out little arguments, and she'd be inconsolable if left behind. He wouldn't hurt her like that. So it was Edmund or Susan. An hour ago he'd have taken Edmund along without a second thought; if events turned violent, he'd certainly want him there. They were more than brothers in Narnia, they'd been brothers-in-arms, so accustomed to fighting at each other's sides that fighting without Edmund was disorientating; on the rare occasions when he'd been in battle without Edmund, he'd felt that it was like trying to walk across a rail with one hand behind his back. But...did he really need Edmund if he had Lucy? She was - or had been, he corrected himself - a capable fighter, and a healer as well. As a king, Edmund's counsel had been tactical, prudent, discerning - but Susan was those things also; Susan would put Peter right if he needed it. Plus she was entirely...trustworthy.

Just as the word came into Peter's head - he didn't even have time to think about whether it was true - Edmund glanced at him, his face blank. They looked away quickly. Edmund scribbled something down, folded his paper, and passed it to Professor Kirke. Peter frowned again before smoothing out his expression - his gut told him Edmund had just written 'Peter.' Mind made up, he scrawled out 'Edmund' and passed his paper down the table. Susan, small flush barely noticeable in the firelight, twirled her pencil for a few long moments before hiding her paper with her hand, writing something very quickly and passing her paper in as well.

It was just Lucy now. She hadn't even picked up her pencil. Edmund nudged her to hurry up, receiving a disapproving glare from Susan for it. Raising her head, Lucy looking at each of them slowly, deliberately, before turning her eyes to her paper. She made a few small marks, then carried it down to the professor's end of the table. As she moved to set it in the pile, she covered all four papers with her palm for a moment, then grabbed them up, striding back down the length of the table to toss them all into the fire before the other three could think to say anything. She stared into the blaze, watching the folded papers curl and burn before turning to face them again, a fire of her own smoldering in her now-dry eyes. She looked more queen than little girl, still child-size but every inch of her radiating Narnian grace and power. When she spoke her voice was angry.

"Four thrones. Four. It has to be all four, or none at all. No shortcuts."

Peter swallowed, the protest he'd been about to voice dying on his lips. He hadn't wanted to admit it, even to himself, but he knew she was right, had sort of known all along, and by the cowed look on Edmund and Susan's faces, his siblings agreed. Lucy spoke again, a bit more gently this time.

"Aslan brought all four of us to Narnia, and he sent all four of us back. I want to go back as much as any of you, but we'll just have to wait for Him to send for us again. Professor Kirke, thank you for your help, but we can't accept it. You just keep these things you've got, this game or set or whatever it is. Guard it well. Even from us."

With that she left the room.

As her footsteps echoed down the hall and up the stairs, Peter sensed that the last little line of hope had just slide out of his grasp. He couldn't help feeling utterly disappointed, indulging the feeling in a long, tired sigh. All thoughts of pieces and games and blood left his mind, as one single thought came to rule it. They were stuck here.

They were stuck here, then - so be it. All they could do now was make the best of it. Perhaps those other lives, the ones Peter had thought he'd left in Narnia, weren't completely lost - he'd seen little flashes of them in his siblings' faces all throughout the night.

And then a thought struck him - he'd seen them, but had they seen him? He had been the High King, the sword of the realm, father to its people. Had Susan, Edmund, or Lucy seen that even once since they'd returned?

Certainly not in the last quarter of an hour, when he'd voted to leave his own brother here in England while the rest of them jaunted back off to Narnia. He suddenly felt a sick hungry curiosity - who had the others voted for? If Peter voted for Edmund and Edmund for Peter, then Susan's would have been the deciding vote...

He looked up at her, but she was staring at her hands, just a timid twelve-year-old again. Peter suspected she was waiting for Lucy to cry herself to sleep before heading upstairs.

At that moment, Professor Kirke rose and excused himself to retire to his study, but not before giving them all a last look. "She's right, after all - Kingsblood isn't a game for children. I am sure Aslan will send for you eventually, in his own time. In the meantime, do try to remain as child-like as possible. While you can."

As soon as he was gone, the others shuffled a bit and made to leave as well. As they were standing, Peter caught Edmund smirking at him. "We could just leave Lucy behind."

It was a little too soon. Peter flushed angrily, trying to think how to respond, but Susan beat him to it. "Like you did last time, you mean?" She said coldly, grabbing their empty mugs and heading for the kitchen.

"Alright, I was only joking," he said in a small voice, watching her leave. Peter felt Edmund's eyes on his back as he too turned to leave, following Lucy's path up the stairs. He was too angry and exhausted to attempt to talk to the old Edmund right now, the one who'd been so terrible all summer, the one who'd sold the other three to the Witch in exchange for candy.

But that boy wasn't the 'old Edmund' anymore; it was the only Edmund now. The new Edmund, the one who had been king at Peter's side all those years, had never really come back through that wardrobe door, no more than Queen Susan or Queen Lucy or even High King Peter. Those Kings and Queens - they were all in still Narnia. Still in Wonderland.

And Peter had to get them back.