AN: Yay, I am so happy! The site's finally letting me upload again which means I can post this story! Yay! Yay! Yay! Okay, enough of that, now onto the point of this author note. So, this is an AU fic and the main pairing is going to be Edmund/Lucy/Caspian (well, I can honestly say I've never used THAT three-some before now!) with implied Ramandu's Daughter/Caspian and some overt Peter/Susan, although they aren't going to be the main focus-point of the story. I don't want to spill the beans about the whole plot anymore than the summery has just yet, so you'll all just have to find out as the story goes along.
Once upon a time....yes, this sounds like a fairytale, doesn't it? A story of morals for the children, perhaps a romance myth for the dreamers. But let it be known straight-out before one more word of this legend is spoken that this is not quite a fairy story.
If the story were muddled, if someone added elements of happiness that did not actually exist in full, then yes, it might just be one. Really, it depends on what each reader perceives to be a fairytale; if you think fairytales are cheerful and always filled with natural goodness in its heroes and happiness in its heroines, then you will come to see very quickly that this is most certainly not one. Yet, in case you should look back in time to the oldest of the genre and believe drama, betrayal, despair, and darkness to be the elements that make up a fairytale, maybe you would see a glimmer of a fairytale in this story after all.
Regardless, this is how it began; once upon a time...there was a noble Narnian village in the north-western woods, which was known to all as the Lantern Waste.
Now this village was considered noble because it wasn't generally a commoner's village; many families of noble birth (counts, dukes, marquises, retired knights, and others) had made their home there. In other words, far away though they were from the Narnian Court, the castle of Cair Paravel, it's capitol, most of them would have been heartily welcomed there if they should venture that far (and indeed, from time to time-for various reasons-some of them did).
One household living in the Lantern Waste was the Pevensie family. Count Pevensie, his wife Countess Helen Pevensie, and their two children; Sir Peter Wolf's-bane Pevensie (he was-at fifteen-a knight of Cair Paravel but had come back to the northwest to be with his family and friends until his presence was required) and, of course, little Lady Lucy Pevensie-she was only eight years old.
They all lived in a cottage that, while on the smallish side (for such a wealthy family's estate), was very grandly made. It had been built by Count Pevensie's great great grandfather in the olden days of Narnia and he was very proud of it. It had four square rooms on the first floor, three on the top, and one large roundly-shaped bedroom also on the second floor. The walls were made of thick pine-two of them had crimson tapestries hemmed with gold thread hanging on them-and the doorways were arched and prettily carved. The round-room, which happened to be the children's bedroom, had walls carved with ivy-patterns and a ceiling painted brightly with faux-stars against an ebony-felt backdrop.
The kitchen had an iron hanger that held golden pots above a hard-pressed brass sink with glittering silver knobs and a faucet in the shape of a Lion's head, its mouth open.
Their housemaid, Dame Macready, was taking out the white breakfast china and the gold-plated sausage forks on the morning this story begins, and was cross to see Peter and Lucy weren't up yet. As they were in her charge whenever the Count and Countess were out (they were only out for a morning stroll, but still) of the cottage, she found it frustrating that they weren't already awake, sitting at the table properly, waiting for their breakfast to be served.
"Peter! Lucy!" shouted Dame Macready, knocking on the side of the cookery with a cast-iron soup-spoon. "Get up you lazy bones, or your parents will hear of this! I'll not call again!"
"I bet..." Peter murmured sarcastically, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he sat up in the large petal-and-feather-stuffed bed he shared with Lucy. "And here I thought I'd get more rest returning home, silly me."
Normally, Peter was much more of a morning person, but his training at Cair Paravel had involved some late-night drills, and while he wasn't a night-owl by nature, his senses of day and night had been a bit thrown-off and he was a little short on sleep.
Lucy sat up and smiled at him as she had every morning since he'd come back. Even though it meant slightly more crowded living arrangements and sharing a bed again after having it to herself for a whole half-year, she didn't agree in the least with Dame Macready that having Peter back home was an 'inconvenience'. Maybe he would have done well to stay at court in the presence of the king and his men, but Lucy knew she would have missed him terribly if he had.
Peter was quite possibly her favorite person in the world. He was rather like father, tall and blonde-haired with a deep chest; only more fun because he was younger, faster, a little less serious, and-surprisingly-twice as protective of her. Most of the other young men around Peter's age in the village viewed her as a gnat and didn't want a puny brown-headed pipsqueak no bigger than a bug bite hanging around them, asking endless questions, but Peter was never like that; he always answered her questions with a half-smile and an eyebrow raised to show he was interested. What was more, he never let the other youths send her away, giving them such a vicious look that they backed down and flashed Lucy the kindest smiles they could muster up at the last minute.
"Good morning, Lu." yawned Peter.
"Morning," Lucy's cheerful voice rang back.
"I had such a funny dream last night," said Peter, holding back a chuckle as he started wake up more, his mood drastically improving.
Lucy tilted her head and curled up next to him as if he was about to tell her a story. "What did you dream?"
"I dreamt you were at Cair Paravel playing with one of our instructors, Sir Reepicheep-he's a talking mouse-and you picked him right up and cuddled him in front of the whole court." Peter laughed, knowing it was silly but not horribly unlikely. "You'd understand if you ever met Sir Reepicheep-he's a very dignified little chap."
"Is it nice at court?" asked Lucy, curious.
"Hmm?" said Peter absently, stretching his legs.
She repeated herself.
"I suppose so." said Peter, shrugging his shoulders. "The eastern sea is very beautiful at sun-set and the water is clear as glass, you would have liked it."
"I think I want to see it some day." Lucy decided, smoothing out the skirt of her white silk nightgown.
"You will," Peter promised. "I might even take you there myself one time if I go back."
"You have to go back eventually, you're a knight." Lucy reminded him a little sadly.
"There are plenty of knights, Lu." Peter pointed out.
"But you're the king's favourite," Lucy said, dead serious.
Peter's eyes widened. "Says who?"
"Cousin Eustace, that's who." Lucy prattled on. "He says you're King Caspian's favourite because you 'positively suck up' to him-but I don't believe the last part."
Peter threw his head back and laughed and laughed until Lucy started to feel a little scared.
"Oh, bother Eustace! Lucy, don't listen to what our cousin says." he told her, still shaking from laughter.
"You are his favourite, though, aren't you?"
"I am one of the king's trusted knights, there are no favourties, a king of Narnia is not allowed to be partial."
Lucy let that go, but deep down she was still convinced that her wonderful brother was the favourite, no matter what he himself had to say about it.
"Is the queen as lovely as everyone says she is?" Lucy wanted to know.
"You asked me that before," Peter chuckled.
"I forget the answer." Lucy said honestly, her eyes wide with innocence.
"She has star-blood in her veins, Ramandu's own daughter, so yes, she is quite beautiful." Peter answered, remembering the lovely golden-haired, milky-faced queen who had knighted him during the official ceremony. "Ramandu is an old retired star, grandfather might know of him."
Their grandfather lived in Ettinsmoor and was an expert on stars and planets.
"Is she prettier than Susan Philippe?" Lucy asked, not actually meaning to tease her brother, but inadvertently doing so anyway.
Peter's face reddened. To most people, the queen of Narnia was a good deal fairer than Lady Susan Philippe of the Lantern Waste was, but Sir Peter was rather bias. Susan, with her long dark hair and regal smile, was the most beautiful young woman in all of the western woods, and he had, since a very tender age, something of a crush on her. He hated to admit it but from the moment Susan (only a year his junior) hit puberty, he'd developed a tendency to forget something in her presence-that something was his own name.
"I, um, didn't notice," said Peter pretend-apathetically, after a pause.
"Lucy! Peter!" bellowed Dame Macready from the kitchen again.
"We're coming, Madame!" Peter called down, rolling his eyes. "Come, let's get ready to go down before the Macready faints from screaming so much."
Lucy giggled into her palm and climbed out of the bed, her feet sinking into the soft purple-dyed sheepskin rug on the floor.
At breakfast, their parents returned from their walk and sat with the children. This did not happen every day, so it was something of a treat for Lucy who admired both her mother and father deeply, and sometimes regretted that they had hired the stern, sour-faced Dame Macready when they seemed perfectly suitable to raise children on their own.
"I was thinking," Count Pevensie said, swallowing down a large bite of bacon and eggs, "that I ought to work on getting a new wall up in the children's bed-room. Lucy will be a young lady before we know it, after all, and she'll want her privacy then."
Little Lucy did not think she would ever grow up; like most children she saw twenty as elderly and Peter's age as middle-aged; it seemed to her that she would stay eight for an awfully long time, and she was glad of it, being in no real hurry to grow up anyway.
As for Peter, he was more concerned with the image of his father, a gentle-bred man who could knit and speak six different languages, as well as write beautiful compositions, but couldn't hold a hammer correctly, trying to get nails into boards for the walls. It was upsetting.
It wasn't that Count Pevensie was a wimp, or a weakling in the least, he was actually a very strong man-brave, too, having seen a few dozen battles in his lifetime-it was just that he had no skill with tools whatsoever and refused to admit this fact. He also could get stubborn and say it wasn't that he couldn't afford to hire someone, it was a matter of manly pride and providing for one's family. Helen had learned to be silent whenever he started on this predicable rant, but Peter had fancied himself more grown-up since his return from Cair Paravel and thought it would be a rather cowardly thing to do, not to speak up.
"Father, please don't try to do it yourself, just hire the beavers-Mr. Beaver does wonderful work, you can ask Mr. Tumnus the faun if you don't believe me." Peter pleaded with him, taking a sip of cold apple-juice.
"Don't be silly, son, when a man needs to provide for his family-" he started.
Helen winced, the skin under the wire-thin golden ruby-chip-studded band around her forehead crinkling with displeasure.
Lucy blurted out, "Daddy, you'll hurt yourself again."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Count Pevensie, his face suddenly draining of colour. "And what do you mean 'again'?"
"Oh, don't you remember? When you tried to make a doll-cradle for Lucy when she was five?" Helen chimed in, daring to speak now. "You sliced your whole index finger open with a chisel."
"Peter put his hands over my ears while you screamed," Lucy added innocently, still to that very day not understanding exactly why Peter's palms had clamed over her ears so rapidly.
Helen smiled at that and winked at her son who half-grinned back, chuckling down at his plate.
Glancing down at the scar on his finger, a cloud passed over Count Pevensie's face; there was no doubt about it, he remembered. "I think I will send a message to Mr. Beaver after all, he does some good work."
"I think that's a fine idea," said Helen supportively.
"Mummy?" said Lucy.
"Yes?"
"May I go out and play after breakfast?"
"Don't you have chores?" Helen asked her.
"I'll take care of them, she's only eight, I think you ought to let her go as long as she promises not to wander in the uninhabited parts of the woods." Peter said, as always, speaking up in Lucy's favor.
She beamed at her brother and looked over excitedly at her mother, "So may I go? I'll be safe, I promise."
"Peter, you spoil her terribly!" Helen warned him with a sternness that was not completely heart-felt.
Count Pevensie, wiping a few toast-crumbs off of his gray leather tunic, had no protests. When he was a boy around Peter's age, he had had a little sister only about six or seven years old who had died in a rather tragic carriage accident, and thus had a soft-spot for Peter's undying affection for Lucy.
"Be safe," Peter repeated as he always did, feeling that he had to guilt Lucy into ignoring her unbridled curiosity, which was always the hardest part of her to keep up with.
"I will be," Lucy promised again, embracing her parents and standing on tip-toe to kiss her brother's cheek before she dashed out the door, remembering-much to Peter's relief-to grab her red woolen cloak to keep herself warm against the chill woodsy air.
Her cheeks were slightly flushed from cold and excitement as she dashed along through the trees, passing a few familiar cottages and manors along the way. She waved to the beavers (one of which was the same Mr. Beaver her father was going to hire), for they were her friends and she had visited their dam and had hot fish on more than one occasion, when she spotted them gnawing a stack of fallen tree branches.
"Good day, Lady Lucy," Mr. Tumnus trotted by her, his goaty feet leaving little hoof-prints in the rich black soil below him.
"Good morning, Mr. Tumnus!"
"Hello, Lucy." Susan Philippe walked by wearing a long-sleeved sky-blue dress with a curved, lace-collar that looked new.
"Hullo, Susan."
"How is your family?" she asked politely; Susan was always polite.
"We are well, thank you," Lucy recited so prettily it was a shame her mother and Dame Macready had not heard-it would have pleased them. "And how is yours?"
"We are well, too." said Susan, finishing up with the formalities. "Is your brother at the cottage still?"
"Yes, of course!" said Lucy.
"I think I will pay him a visit, then." she decided, biting back a teeny-not quite proper-grin that had found its way to her lips at the thought of Peter Wolf's Bane. Whether or not he was the king's favourite knight, he was certainly hers. But, then, she was as bias in his favor as he could be about her cleverness and beauty. "Mind you keep out of danger, Lucy, if you see a strange gray wolf roaming in the darkest parts of the forest, please, for the love of Aslan, don't try to make friends with it!"
I did that one time, Lucy thought, pouting to herself, and it isn't as if Peter didn't kill him when he attacked me.
This was, actually, where the name Wolf's Bane had come from; from the traveling story of Peter saving his-at the time-four year old sister from being eating by a wolf. It was quite a popular story back at Cair Paravel, and he heard it so many times during his training there that he thought he would be sick if anyone ever said the name 'Maugrim' to him again.
After a while of peaceful wandering and greetings, Lucy found herself alone in a thicker part of the woods that came before a little clearing she was familiar with. She liked this clearing because there was a wide, lovely roaring brook that ran right through the middle of it. The village children often went there to play and catch small frogs, or else to sit on the little three-foot high stone wall that stood around the deepest parts of the brook.
Today there was only one child there, a surly-faced boy of about ten years old with his short dark hair ruffled and uncombed. Judging from the dirty-looking state of the back of his ears-at least two shades darker than his actual pale skin, messily speckled this way and that-it didn't look as if he had properly washed his face or neck, either, but Lucy-lucky for him-was not a stickler for such matters.
The boy's name was Edmund Philippe and he was Susan's troublesome younger brother. Something of the so-called trouble-maker in his family, and rather a stranger amongst the other village children, he didn't have many friends. Lucy, however, in spite of the fact that he gave her no reason at all that she should, liked him.
It really made very little sense that she had formed such an attachment to a boy of Edmund's demeanor when you really thought about it, considering how his treatment of her was nothing like her sainted brother. Edmund was cross, bad-tempered, and he could be spiteful. There were moments when even Lucy felt vexed with him and almost wished they were not friends, knowing even in her young age that he did not really deserve the affections she had for him.
To be fair, he was not all bad. Sometimes he was very nearly all good. Upon occasion he had glanced at Lucy with a look that didn't seem at all like the Edmund the village knew and generally disliked, almost a real smile. And once he had given her a peppermint when she was looking glum and he had been in a good mood. Lucy had never forgotten that peppermint.
In contrast, when he was his ordinary sulky self and did not want some little girl with wide friendly eyes and a fascination for following him around the whole darned village, even climbing trees with him (he hadn't thought girls liked to climb trees, but apparently they-or at least Lucy-did), he was borderline cruel. He'd say things he didn't really mean and growl at her, baring his teeth as if he were more animal than human boy. For his own safety, he had given up throwing things at her (Peter had beaten him severely when Lucy returned to the cottage with wet dirt dripping down her face and bruises on one cheek from a hard twig and a large number of mud-balls hitting her, and then Count Pevensie had gotten upset and reported the matter to Edmund's stepmother who was very fond of Lucy, and so sent him to bed without supper), but he could still be mean without being physical.
He need not have worried about getting in trouble again, and if he'd known how deep Lucy's childish devotion to him really went, he would have understood why this was. She had been heart-broken when she found out how badly her Edmund, her dear friend, had been punished-forgetting his wickedness to her and refusing to take supper herself that night, simply because she felt bad eating when he wouldn't have a single bite until the morning.
One might rightly wonder why Edmund was so unkind. Well, part of it was his own fault and no one else's, that cannot be denied, and he for ever felt guilty for that part of himself, even after he out-grew it. But most of his spitefulness came from another source, one that Lucy was vaguely familiar with and pitied him deeply over.
His stepmother, Lady Philippe, was half-Calormene, and while she did love both the country of Narnia and her two stepchildren dearly, she had spent most of her childhood in Calormen and had been engrossed in the idea it promoted that it was better than anywhere else. She truly believed that the education there was the finest available and with the passing of time became bitterly disappointed that Susan had never been sent to Calormen to learn. So she pestered her husband endlessly that Edmund might be sent there.
Finally he had said, "By the Lion, woman, will you give me no peace? Do whatever you please, send my son where ever you will, just leave me out of it and let me be!"
And just like that, Edmund was to be sent away.
In those days, he and Lucy, though they were very, very young, had almost had a real friendship that wasn't one-sided, meeting up once in a while to play together. One time he'd snuck out of his nursery window during naptime and visited her at the cottage. They played with one another for two hours before someone finally found Edmund and dragged him back home with a sound scolding. That was before he was to go to Calormen.
When he was gone, Lucy's tiny heart missed him and she tried very hard for his sake not to let her memories of their games dim, but despite her best efforts they did fade into shorter moments and she couldn't remember what his voice had sounded like back then, before it became sarcastic.
Calormen turned out to be a bad experience for Edmund. While he spoke very little of what had really happened to him there, two things professed to the true horror he had endured.
First, as soon as he could spell out words (a quick learner by desperate motivation) he wrote a letter to his father saying that if they did not let him come back home, if they did not take him away from the boarding school in Calormen, he would kill himself.
The letters were so dark in nature that no one, not even his stepmother, doubted Edmund was serious and would indeed take his own life if something was not done as quickly as possible.
Susan was especially effected by the content of the letters (one of which Edmund had secretly sent to her just in case which said in wobbly writing: 'Goodbye, Su'), so much so that, faced with her little brother's threats of suicide, she told her father and stepmother that if they did not bring him back at once, she would go and get him herself. For her insolence, her father had smacked her hard on the mouth, but he felt so guilty about it afterwards that he wept and shed many tears.
Long story short, Edmund, now an older boy, was allowed to come home to the Lantern Waste.
Second, the Tarkaan who was the headmaster of the school Edmund had gone to was eventually declared a mad-man and was sent away to a mental institution.
When Lucy had learned that Edmund was back from Calormen, recalling her old playmate with a shiver of excitement, thinking it would all go back to the way it had been when they were smaller, she naturally wanted to see him.
Strangely enough, no one would let her. Peter's face was grave and he looked anxious, changing the subject when she asked about Edmund. Susan, when she cornered her near Tumnus's house, would say nothing, only that she was sorry but Lucy could not see Edmund just yet-he was unwell.
Her cousin Eustace had been walking by after Susan got away and Lucy ran after him.
"Eustace, is it true that Edmund is unwell?"
He scoffed, "No, he's just got a split-lip and bruises all over his body."
She backed away, not liking that news one bit. "What?"
"The Tarkaan beat him, the older Calormene boys, too."
And from that moment onwards, it was as if Lucy's soul-her very life-had been intertwined around Edmund's in an unbreakable fashion. From her pity, a deep, one-sided love grew.
Now he sat on the stone wall itself, looking steadily down into the murky-with-shadows water below, not even acknowledging Lucy.
"Good morning, Edmund!" Lucy called to him.
He grunted, still not even bothering to turn his head and so much as glance at her.
If Lucy had been a little older, she would have known from the way he was conducting himself, from the stiff way he sat with his blood-shot eyes already red and cross that morning for whatever reason, that she should not have spoken to him at all.
It would be lovely to report that the brave, innocent little girl that was Lucy had a wave of good sense hit her like a ton of bricks, nodded, left Edmund alone, and went on her merry way, skipping and singing through the woods, making it home just in time for tea without a single bruise or scratch on her body. But, then, if that were the case, maybe there would be no story.
Climbing up beside him, kicking off her shoes, and sitting in a ruffled manner at his side with her bare feet banging lightly against the side of the stone wall from time to time, she began to talk to him.
"Shut up," said Edmund after listening to her prattle on about her morning and how she had seen his sister and the beavers and Tumnus.
Although she did shoot him a faded glare (that he didn't even notice, by the way) and pursed her lips angrily, she obeyed and stopped talking.
Her presence was still cheerful and happy when all Edmund wanted was to be alone and dark, bitter and cold, which irked him terribly.
"Lucy, go home."
"I don't want to."
He inhaled deeply. "Your brother will be waiting with your tea, wont he?"
"Not yet, and your sister's gone to visit him just now, anyway."
Being older than Lucy, Edmund knew better than her that it meant the two love-birds were flirting and smiling at each other in a demented fashion, so he said nothing more, still hoping Lucy would go away on her own.
Edmund's stomach rumbled; he could have had breakfast that morning, but he'd been sour and complaining, had none of it, and was now facing the consequences of that. Sometimes Lucy's brother gave her a snack to take with her; suddenly his interest in the cheery little girl increased.
"Have you brought anything to eat?"
"No," said Lucy. "I've only just had breakfast."
The interest was gone. "Can't you go and sit by someone else?"
"You're the only one here, Ed." Lucy pointed out obliviously.
"I meant go someplace else," he said meanly.
"I don't want to, can't I sit here with you? I'll be quiet, I promise."
He willed himself not to scream.
"Are you going to play chess later? Peter taught me-"
"I thought you promised to be quiet!" Edmund turned and glared at her so hard that if she were a very little bit younger, she would have cried under the grip of such a wicked glower.
"What did they do to you," said Lucy, unable to stop herself. "Back in Calormen...did they hurt you very badly?"
"No," Edmund lied. "At least it wasn't boring like this place...stepmother scolds, father frowns like anything, and Susan's so bossy, I'd like to run away."
He wasn't serious, however much he did sound it, but Lucy didn't know the difference. "Oh, Ed, you're going away?"
"Yes." he said, just to upset her, thinking she might run away in tears and leave him be.
"Where will you go?" she kicked her foot against the wall again.
"Ettinsmoor, maybe."
"I've a grandfather in Ettinsmoor," Lucy told him.
"How nice," Edmund sneered insincerely.
"I'll come, too, Ed."
"What?" That got his attention. "Come with me? Are you batty?"
"I will so come; I want to see the marsh-wiggles and the giants and learn all about-"
"Well, I've just decided not to go to Ettinsmoor after all, then." Edmund retorted, trying to think of a place a girl wouldn't like to go. "I'm going away on a ship in the east and sailing to the end of the world all by myself."
Unfortunately for him, this only excited Lucy's believing heart all the more so. "Oh, that sounds like fun-do you think we'll find Aslan? I know his country isn't the sort you can sail to-at least, I don't think so-but we might run into him perhaps-"
"Will you shut up? I'm not going east, you're out of your mind."
Lucy thought of reaching for his one of his hands, noticing that they were shaking, but he had such a venomous expression in his eyes that she didn't dare. It was almost easier trying to make friends with Maugrim-before he tried to eat her, of course.
"I'm hungry," Edmund said, his stomach rumbling again from lack of breakfast.
"Go and get something to eat, then." Lucy told him quietly.
"I don't want to go home, stepmother will scold me for not doing any studying, you bring me something to eat."
"Me?" said Lucy, clearly confused. "Where will I get something for you to eat?"
"Don't be stupid, more than half the village would give you food if you asked."
A new thought struck Lucy; that he was trying to get rid of her so that he could go away to Ettinsmoor, or the sailing port to travel east, or where ever, by himself. She would have none of that.
"Come with me," said Lucy reasonably, almost daring to take his hand now but changing her mind at the last second because he seemed angry still. "Mr. Tumnus will give us an early tea."
"I don't want to go to Mr. Tumnus, I want to stay here," Edmund told her crossly, "you go."
"Not unless you come." Lucy declared unwaveringly.
"Lucy, I swear if you wont make yourself useful, or at the very least bloody leave me alone, I'll...I'll-" he tried to think of a good punishment for her being a helpless goose. "-I'll shove you right off this wall into the water."
Lucy's eyes filled with tears. "You wouldn't." She still believe in his goodness.
"Stop that noise!" barked Edmund, furious that she was crying like a baby over his silly, previously-empty threat. At that moment, so fed-up with her, loathing nearly everyone-including himself-he reached out and pushed her off the wall.
She hadn't been ready, not even a little bit, and the gasp that escaped her little throat as she fell into the brook, not-at-all-far way down though it was, made Edmund's stone heart turn into flesh again, and he felt horrible.
What have I done? he thought, biting his lower lip, his eyelids brimming over with glistening tears. He was ready to apologize the moment the poor little girl rose up drenched and shivering from the brook, but when she didn't, his returned heart almost stopped beating altogether. The realization came like a punch in the face, a smack across the mouth: Lucy couldn't swim. Lucy couldn't swim and that part of the brook was deep.
"Lucy!" he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. Nothing for it, he held his nose and jumped into the brook after her.
Swimming around franticly, he thought he wouldn't find her in time. How had the little girl sunk down so quickly? Was she made of lead or something?
Unable to hold his breath any longer, he had to surface. "Lucy?"
A little ways away, a head popped up from under the water; a little girl's head with brown hair stuck all over her round cherub-like face.
At first he was overjoyed and started to swim towards her, about to demand of her how on earth she had managed to save herself (perhaps she had found a high-up rock under there and was standing on it?), when he noticed what was holding her up. A large, somber-eyed golden Lion with a wet flowing mane and a disappointed expression seemingly directed at Edmund. His lips were attached to the back of Lucy's dress, pulling the gasping, apparently unconscious girl to shore.
This Lion, who Edmund now figured was Aslan, the great Lion of Narnia, placed Lucy down as gently as a mother cat puts down her kitten, then wadded back into the water after the boy who'd shoved her in.
Edmund shut his eyes and winced. Surely he was in for it now! But the Lion, wadding to-and-fro, coming ever closer to him, did not roar or snarl; and his teeth were only bared for a passing moment.
"Aslan," Edmund bowed, nearly losing his footing and falling under the brook with a mighty splash.
The Lion reached out with his paw and steadied him. "Human child, you have been cruel."
He hung his head, his damp, dark curls sticking limply to the side of his forehead. "Will she live?"
"The girl will be fine, Edmund, but ware of your own self from this point on." said Aslan; then he boxed the boy's ears well and truly with his paw, not meanly to hurt him but simply to remind him that he was in disgrace.
On the muddy blank next to the wall, Lucy's swollen watery eyes fluttered open and she could see Edmund and Aslan standing in the brook talking. She could not hear what they were saying, but she knew it was not for her own ears anyway.
When they were finished, they returned to her and Edmund helped her to her feet, begging for forgiveness, which she gave him at once.
Aslan gave her a Lion-kiss on the forehead, threw back his mane, and ran away.
"Oh, Lucy," Edmund whispered, embracing her. "I'm so sorry."
"I know," she said, rubbing her sore left arm with one hand and stroking her aching throat with the other.
"Poor thing," said Edmund, looking broken. "It must have hurt so badly, and you're soaked."
"It did." Lucy wouldn't lie.
"I promise I will never hurt you again." Edmund swore, grasping at her hands.
She kissed his cheek in return and said, "Please don't."
"I'll never, not ever," and he meant what he said.
Lucy returned to the cottage for tea eventually, alone (Edmund, in spite of his promise was afraid to show himself before Peter with Lucy in such a state, and choose his stepmother's nagging instead), and Lady Susan was still there.
"Oh, by Aslan!" she cried at the top of her voice. "What happened to you, Lucy?"
"Lu!" Peter stood up and rushed to her side, seeing how dirty and tired and half-strangled she looked. "Are you all right? What happened?"
Edmund pushed me off the stone wall next to the brook... All that came out, for she refused to lie and would not blame him after his repentance and solemn promise, was a murmured, trembling-lipped, "...brook...wall...Aslan pulled...I'm tired now."
"Oh poor little thing!" Susan grabbed a wool plaid blanket and threw it over Lucy shoulders. "She must be freezing. Do let's get her something to eat, Peter, and some tea to drink."
Lucy curled up by the fireplace, was held tightly by her brother, and was given a piping hot silver mug of tea with twice as much sugar as she was usually allowed, and sneezed.
AN: Please review and tell me if anyone likes this story so far! Okay?