I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies, but I do own the DVD, so maybe in some small way I do. Please don't kill me just yet.

Lucy woke early the next morning, roused by a servant who she'd asked to do so. She wanted to be there to greet her siblings. And, she spontaneously decided, she would make sure Edmund did the same. She slipped out of bed still in her nightgown and ran the short distance to his chambers, her hair flying out behind her and her bare feet slapping against the cold stone. Making a mental note to put on slippers next time, she wrenched open the door and bounded over to his canopied bed while calling loudly for him to wake up. When she leapt atop the bulge in the covers she was sure was her brother, it gave a groan and slipped entirely underneath the bedding.

"Come on, Ed, we're going to go and wait for Peter and Susan," she told the bed.

"Leamme alone," came the hoarse, muffled reply. She clambered off him and instead took to prodding the bump until she was rewarded with a stifled shriek of laughter. Then she proceeded to tickle Edmund mercilessly through the covers until he erupted from underneath them, hair in disarray and face set in fury that at first she thought was real.

"Lu!" he growled, reaching over to viciously muss her hair. She giggled and stood up, extending a hand to him.

"Come on, let's go!" she said eagerly. He rolled his eyes but obligingly rolled out of bed and stretched with a massive yawn.

"At least get dressed," he said, prodding her out the door.

Five minutes later, the two of them were standing by the open gate, shielding their eyes against the sunrise that was spilling over the sea to their left. It was a beautiful, still morning that vowed to become an even more gorgeous day; Lucy felt as if it was heralding something dramatic and gave a little shiver. She and Edmund climbed up onto the battlements so that they could see further down the path. A light breeze toyed with their hair, rippling Lucy's loose sleeves, and though the air was cold, the sun's rays offered a contrasting warmth that felt soothing upon her cheeks.

One minute became two, two minutes became three, three minutes became fifteen and half an hour later, they were still waiting. The sun had long since cleared the horizon.

"I do wish they'd hurry," said Lucy. "I'm getting rather hungry."

Edmund frowned, rubbing his arms to keep some semblance of warmth in them.

"And cold," he added. "Didn't they say they'd be back by now?"

"Yes."

Half an hour was not too much to be worried about, though, so they contented themselves to wait a little longer, playing games with words and being generally silly. The cold soon got to them, though, and even their laughter was muted in the oppressively still air. Most of the castle had yet to wake up. They were just about to give up and head inside when something appeared on the horizon, a faint speck that cast a long, westward shadow. Straightening on her perch, Lucy watched it carefully, fairly certain that it was the returning party, but a minute later it was still getting closer and it was not followed by any other figures. It was making slow progress and she was not patient. Leaping down off the ramparts, she scrambled down the stairway, closely followed by Edmund, and they sprinted out the gates and toward the nearing shape.

They realized who it was when they were about thirty feet away and increased their pace, the humor back in it as they raced one another towards their elder brother. As they grew closer, however, the laughter died on their lips. Something was wrong. Peter's horse was moving quite slowly, and it was limping; the High King sat in the saddle not straight-backed but slumped forward, as if he didn't have the strength to sit up. When they reached his side, Lucy had to swallow a gasp of shock and fear - his armor and tunic were crusted with vast amounts of blood, his helmet missing and his face marred by a long gash that ran from his temple to the corner of his lip. The blood there was still fresh and dripping down his face. His eyes, normally a bright, intense blue, were hazy with pain and a only few seconds after Lucy and Edmund had skidded to a stop beside his tired mount, he slid sideways and toppled from the saddle entirely. Edmund lurched forward, staggering under the weight of his older brother as he caught him on his shoulder. Lucy quickly helped him to maneuver Peter down onto the ground, feeling increasingly queasy as she saw more of his injuries.

"By the Lion," she breathed anxiously. The back of his armor was slashed straight through, the chain mail ripped like paper and his broad back showed several long, deep lacerations that oozed blood sickeningly. Edmund seemed beyond words. He looked up at Lucy helplessly, face pale and greenish, mouth opened slightly in horror. She knew what he was going to ask before he asked it, and took off towards the castle to fetch her cordial.

When she returned, Edmund had slipped his cloak underneath Peter's body in order to let him lay on his stomach. She was sure her eldest brother was unconscious, so she was immensely surprised when he stirred, hands twitching feebly towards the sword Edmund had removed from his belt, the lines of his face deepening into an expression of deepest pain. Swiftly she knelt by him, and the two youngest Pevensies again rolled their brother onto his side so that she could tip a single rosy drop from her vial into his parted lips. He swallowed, shuddered, and as they saw the gashes in his back begin to knit themselves back together, he curled into himself and did something they had not seen him do in more than a year – he cried.

Lucy reached out and put a hand on his armored shoulder. Something was horribly wrong. Peter didn't cry, Peter wasn't allowed to cry. And where was Susan…? With a sickening jolt, her mind connected these two thoughts. Edmund sat stiffly, jaw tight and eyes filled with anxiety. For a time they sat by their brother, uneasily watching his body shake with sobs, flinching at every broken cry that escaped his lips. By then, there were people moving in the courtyard behind them, but none had yet noticed the scene taking place outside the gates. When Peter finally quieted, Lucy turned to the younger of her brothers with a look of helpless questioning. Ed's face was entirely blank. At her glance, however, he nodded dumbly and shuffled over to kneel beside the High King.

"Let's get you inside," he whispered hoarsely. His voice was small and quavering. Lucy helped him hoist Peter upright and the three of them made their way back towards the castle, Ed fastening Rhindon to his own belt and bearing most of Peter's weight on his shoulder. The elder king was conscious, but though all that remained of his injuries were the bloodstains, he was limp and unresponsive, and his eyes drooped to an apathetic stare as he was borne inside.

A satyr noticed their approach when they neared the gate, and in a few seconds a throng of people had rushed out to surround the monarchs, inquiries buzzing in the air. Lucy sent them all away excepting one strong centaur over whose back they draped Peter's unmoving body. With their hands upon his shoulders to steady his journey, Lucy and Edmund followed the procession up to their brother's chambers, where he was gently deposited on his bed. Still he did not respond, seemingly awake but giving no indication that he noticed their presence. After a few long minutes of tense silence as they stood, watching over him, Lucy spoke.

"Peter?" she asked in a very small voice. His half-lidded eyes rolled over to look at her bleakly, then instantly darted back down. "Peter…what happened?"

He gave a great shudder and turned his face into the soft blankets. Edmund stood back, looking on with an expression of disbelieving shock as Lucy sat down on the bed beside their brother. Lucy had tried to avoid the question before, but it had to be asked. Feeling as though she could not sound more uncertain, she managed to whisper,

"Where's Susan?"

The silence alone was enough to give her an answer.

Her sister was dead.