Edmund Pevensie sat slumped in his chair, arms crossed firmly against his chest as if they would force the pressure building in his lungs from escaping as a cough. His efforts were futile, however, and a second later he dissolved into a fit, burying his mouth into his jumper to keep the germs from spraying across the school's office. He was acutely aware that at the moment he looked very unlike the King Edmund the Just he'd so recently been accustomed to calling himself, but he also found he didn't very much care. Even kings can't look dignified while ill.

Once the coughing fit had passed, Edmund felt a tickle dancing in in his sinus. He pulled a somewhat-soiled handkerchief from his short trouser pocket and blew his nose forcefully into it, sending a chill creeping up his spine. With a rueful sigh, he silently cursed the much-to-large gap between the hem of his shorts and top of his socks as goose-flesh appeared at his knees. Peter was so lucky that his uniform had long trousers.

A disapproving "tsk" brought Edmund from his ruminations and attracted his attention to the school secretary, who sat behind a desk a few feet away. "Are you sure you wouldn't like for me to call and have someone pick you up?" the silver-haired woman asked.

"Quite sure." Edmund wondered how his voice could sound congested and hoarse all at once. "I'll walk home with my siblings. It's nearly the end of the day."

"Well, I suppose Peter will make sure you get home alright," the secretary muttered, returning her gaze to the paperwork cluttering her desk.

Edmund huffed, irritating his already sore throat. He was perfectly capable of making it home all by himself, thank you very much. Hadn't he defeated the Telmarian army alone when Peter was busy settling a trade agreement with the centaurs? Hadn't he single-handedly negotiated peace with the Northmen after they threatened to burn Cair Paravel to ruins? But this woman didn't know that, Edmund reminded himself. Still, he couldn't help feeling resentful at how she, and everyone else, his teacher, Mrs. Macready, even Professor Kirke, treated him and his siblings like the children they were in England rather than the respected and powerful monarchs they'd been in Narnia.

Edmund sniffed, contemplating if his sinuses were stuffed-up enough to blow again, or if he should wait. Another tickle decided for him and he brought his handkerchief to his face just in time to catch the sneeze. This blasted cold certainly wasn't helping matters. Just now the secretary was looking at him as if he were some wounded puppy!

The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. As students started to bustle in the hall outside the office, Edmund began to push himself up out of his chair.

"Where do you think you're going?" the secretary asked without looking up. Blast! Edmund had never encountered anyone with such mysterious powers outside of Narnia.

"I usually meet my brother and sisters just outside the front door."

"Usually, but not today. I sent a student with a note to Peter's teacher, he'll be down to get you soon."

Edmund frowned and dropped back in his chair with a thump. He did not need to be gotten, and certainly not by Peter. Before he could say anything on the matter, though, his older brother knocked on the door to the office.

Since their return from Narnia, Peter had had what The Macready called a 'growth spurt' and acquired a pair of round, tortoise shell glasses, both of which made him look irritatingly older than 13. He'd never had any trouble with his eyes when they were kings, of course, but then here he spent so much time holed up in his room or Professor Kirke's library, a textbook an inch from his face, it was no wonder if anything farther away was blurry.

With his spectacles on, however, Peter had no problem spotting his brother in the corner. "Ed! Goodness, you look awful."

Edmund believed it - he did feel awful, after all - but he didn't particularly appreciate being told so. "It's just a cold."

Peter raised his eyebrows but said nothing. The secretary, however, decided to elaborate: "His teacher sent him down here about half an hour ago. We had a matron, you know, before the war, and nobody's quite sure what to do about sick students now . . . anyway he's almost certainly running a fever, though I haven't got a thermometer to see how high. A few others from his class have been home sick this week, I suppose he's caught the same thing."

"And what do they have?" Peter asked as Edmund scowled. He hated being talked about like he wasn't there.

The secretary shrugged and gave a wane smile. "I'm not sure, dear. Anyway, you'd best get going. Feel better, Edmund."

"Thank you, ma'am," Ed muttered as his stood and slipped into his coat. He pulled his collar up to cover a few coughs, then followed Peter out of the office. They walked silently through the now mostly empty hall and met Susan and Lucy by the door.

"Sorry you're not feeling well, Ed," Susan offered as they began the long walk back to Professor Kirke's house.

Lucy nodded in agreement. "I'd give you a drop from my cordial, if I could."

Edmund smiled a bit. "Thanks, Lu, but it'd be a waste to use even the scantest amount on a silly cold. I'll go to bed early tonight, and be better by tomorrow, I bet."

Peter looked at him skeptically. "Mrs. Williams said she thought you had a fever," he pointed out. "Colds don't cause fevers."

"I didn't know you were a doctor."

"Well, I'm a healer, and Peter's right," Lucy said, drawing her 8-year-old self up to full height, as if trying to regain the regal air she'd had as Queen.

Edmund snorted, and struggled not to wince as the sound grated against his throat. "You were a healer, Lu. We aren't kings and queens anymore."

"Not with that attitude, your highness," Lucy replied with a small curtsy and a giggle.

Edmund rolled his eyes. "Not with any attitude." He didn't know why he was acting so surly; he'd stopped being so mean-spirited towards his siblings since their time in Narnia, but this blasted cold was really getting to him.

A cool October breeze danced along next to the Pevensie children, burrowing up the bottom of Edmund's coat and making him shiver, his teeth chattering. "Awfully cold for this time of year, isn't it?" he asked, hoping to change the subject. To emphasize the point, he crossed his arms across his chest, pulling his coat tighter around him.

In response, Peter, Susan and Lucy shared a glance before murmuring agreement. Edmund didn't notice that all three had their coats unbuttoned, and would have never guessed they'd been thinking how nice it was that summer's warmth hadn't yet completely faded.

In her usual militaristic manner, The Macready sentenced Edmund to bed with a thermometer beneath his tongue and a hot water bottle at his feet the moment she saw him.

Really, Edmund thought as she tucked an extra blanket around his shoulders, I'm not as sick as that.

The evidence, however, agreed with The Macready: a fever of just under 39° (102.2°F); a dry, hacking cough; sore throat; congestion; chills; malaise. As much as Edmund hated to admit it, he was sick, and he probably wasn't going to be better in the morning.

The Macready even made Peter move his things to a different bedroom so he wouldn't fall ill as well. Her unprecedented involvement with the Pevensie children's affairs surprised them at first, but she soon revealed the motivation for her intervention: "One sick child is bad enough. The last thing I or the Professor wants is a houseful of them."

Edmund spent his evening rather miserably, feeling progressively worse as the hours passed. Besides the intensifying coughs, sneezes and chills, he was excruciatingly bored. He felt far too ill to attempt any of his school homework, his siblings had been forbidden from entering his room, and an attempt to read a book had ended only in a headache that still throbbed. Even sleeping wasn't an option; though he was quickly becoming more and more exhausted, every position he tried was too uncomfortable to maintain for more than a few moments.

The Macready brought the patient some soup on a tray just after dinnertime, but Edmund couldn't manage more than a few spoonfuls before his stomach began to object.

"Finish the bowl," The Macready ordered impatiently, "or you'll be hungry before breakfast."

Edmund highly doubted that, but didn't dare argue. The Macready was at least as powerful and twice as determined as any army he'd fought in Narnia. In his weakened state and without his Calvary behind him, he knew he couldn't win.

The soup came out the victor, however, because when it was still just under half full, Edmund declared, "if I eat anymore I'm going to be sick."

The Macready searched his face for a hint that he was lying, but his words were truth. Reluctantly, she cleared away the tray and handed Edmund a cup containing a foul-smelling and grotesquely-colored concoction.

"What's that?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

"It's medicine. Drink it, all of it."

Edmund held the dose in front of him and looked at it hesitantly, plotting his strategy. Downing it quickly would mean a few extremely unpleasant seconds, but sipping slowly would simply prolong the torture. Before he could change his mind, he tipped the cup back and swallowed the liquid all in one gulp, gagging afterwards.

"Heavens, child, learn to grow up. It isn't that bad."

You're not the one who had to swallow it, Edmund thought as he handed the cup back. And besides, who are you to tell King Edmund the Just to "grow up?"

As far as Edmund could tell, the medicine did nothing but leave a bad taste in his mouth, one he couldn't get rid of no matter how many sips of water he took from the glass on his nightstand. The coughing, sneezing, and so forth were all still present in full strength as he tried to sleep a few hours later.

Like a devilish enemy, his symptoms would lie in wait as his sore muscles slowly relaxed in a position, then strike just as he was about to drift off, bringing him back to full consciousness with a painful, hacking cough or a sneeze practically strong enough to propel him to the side. Edmund was recovering from a particularly nasty coughing fit, his face buried in his pillow, when the door creaked open. He didn't bother looking up, figuring The Macready had come to yell at him for keeping the whole house awake. Instead of a fierce reprimand, however, Edmund heard light footsteps approaching his bed, then felt a small hand shaking his shoulder.

"Ed? Are you ok?"

Edmund raised his head to see Lucy's eyes locked with his. She was dressed in a loose-fitting nightgown and her hair was tousled; clearly, she'd been asleep. He considered answering sarcastically, but decided against it.

"Not really," he croaked. "I feel pretty awful. It's alright, though. You can go back to bed."

Lucy ignored this last bit and instead reached out to feel her brother's forehead. "You're hot as fire!" she gasped.

"It's not as bad as that," Edmund replied, swatting at her hand blindly. He'd never get to sleep if she stayed.

"Have you been able to sleep?" Lucy asked, her voice taking on a tone more fitting to a worried nurse than an 8-year-old sister. "I heard you coughing from across the hall."

"Did I wake you?" Edmund felt his chest clench as Lucy nodded. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"I know that, but I'm worried." She sighed deeply. "I wish I had my cordial."

"So do I. The medicine The Macready gave me was the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted." Lucy laughed as Edmund smiled, though it quickly turned to grimace as another coughing fit creeped up, this one even worse than before. Deep, hacking coughs rattled through his chest and made him curl up in pain. He closed his eyes and bit the inside of his lip to keep from crying out.

"Edmund . . ." Lucy trailed off, fear making her voice shake. "I'll go fetch Mrs. Macready."

"No, Lu, it's fine," Edmund insisted, forcing his eyes open as the fit finally subsided. "I'm no worse than when she brought me dinner."

"If-if you're sure," Lucy said, after a hesitation. Edmund nodded.

"I'm sure. You can go back to bed. I'll probably be better in the morning."

Lucy raised a singular eyebrow in silence.

"Not completely better, but a little better," Edmund clarified. "Mum says things are always a little better in the morning, remember?"

Lucy nodded. "I wish she was here," she whispered. "We got so used to being away from her and Dad in Narnia, but it's still weird to be here without them." Edmund thought he saw a few tears escape from Lucy's eyes. "But I suppose that's silly," she added hastily.

"It's not silly. Not at all." With tremendous effort, Edmund pushed himself up a little and took his sister's hand. "I wish Mum and Dad were here, too. I think Narnia made it a little harder, in a way. It's been fifteen years for us since we were last together, but only a few months for them."

Lucy wiped at her face with her free hand, attempting to banish her tears. "I think you're right." She giggled. "How silly, Ed, I came in here to see if you were alright and now I'm just crying!"

"Don't worry about it," Edmund gave his sister's hand a squeeze. "Now go back to bed. I don't want to make you sick, too."

"Ok," Lucy agreed, squeezing back. "And feel better, King Edmund the Just. The kingdom won't be right without you."

"Aye, Queen Lucy the Valiant, a thousand thanks. Now goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Author's Note: Hello everyone! This is my first time uploading a story, I hope you're enjoying it so far. :) I have most of this story written, just editing now. I'll aim for a new chapter every week, so stay tuned. Thanks for reading!