Fear

I felt warm arms surround me and realized that Peter had woken up and was on the floor, holding me to him. He was whispering things that I couldn't hear. I felt his presence in my head. Alex, you have to stop. Give me it back. You shouldn't, you can't take this from me. It'll kill you, and that will hurt me more than any injury. Please, Alex.

I can't.

You have to. Please, Lioness. For me.

I – I can't.

You have to. Give it to me, Alex. That's an order.

I looked up through my tears and saw him gritting his teeth, taking it back. The pain subsided, slowly.

I realized suddenly that we were surrounded by spectators. Edmund, Susan, Becca, and Lucy were there, looking terrified. Delah was watching us intently, thinking very hard about something. There were several Nymphs there, watching us enviously. Why? It hurt. A lot. Why would they be envious of us? Then it occurred to me. Of course. I was being held. By Peter. Just about every Nymph in the castle was crazy about him, which made us being in love difficult on my social life. Not that I even have a social life. Or want one.

We pulled away from each other reluctantly. Peter started to stand, but fell back, hissing in a sharp breath when he put weight on his leg. His family and I rushed forward, and with our combined efforts, we managed to get him onto the bed. He lay there, with agony-filled eyes, as Delah checked his leg. The sight made Lucy turn away and bury her face into Edmund's chest. He held her, staring at Peter's leg, unable to look away from shock. Susan had to leave the room. Becca just left before Delah took the bandage off. I stared in horror, recalling the pain he'd been in and realizing that that had to be what he felt normally, now that I saw the leg.

(AN: For those of you with weak stomachs, please skip the next paragraph.) It was red, with horrible scars and awful cuts that were still bleeding and oozed pus. The part of his leg that wasn't scarred was too pale, like there was no blood left in the leg. The skin in between the white and the red parts was tinged an awful, unhealthy green. When Delah touched it very lightly, with just the tip of one finger, Peter cried out.

(AN: You can read now.) I nearly fainted. I heard the sound of Edmund and Lucy hurrying out of the room. I took a step forward, staring at his leg, and then swayed. I forced myself to stay upright. I could not, would not, fall. I couldn't be girly now. I had to be strong. I heard the Nymphs quickly leaving the room. Peter gasped with pain, and then gritted his teeth, staring at me with haunting eyes.

I could hear him breathing faster and faster, uneven and shallow, as Delah cleaned the wound as best she could, and then wrapped it with fresh bandages. A moment later, he passed out. I turned to Delah. "I just wish there was something I could do."

"Pray to Aslan." I hadn't thought of that. Delah gave me a small smile and walked out on silent feet.

I looked out the window, towards the Eastern Sea. Aslan always came from the Sea, so to the Sea I looked. The waves always gave me a sense of . . . life. So wild and hectic, but also still and beautiful. As with storms, I could relate with the Sea. I felt the familiar rush of power, the familiar feeling of battle-bred adrenaline, but there was nothing to fight. So, I tried to send that power to Aslan.

Aslan, no - Daddy, please. Just please. We need You. Peter needs You. I need You, because I need him. Please, just send Your blessing or come if You are able. Daddy, I can't live without Peter. Please. Please come and heal him. I'll die if it means he will live. Please, just let him live. If anything, let him live. If I never get to see him or You again, just let him live. Heal him, Daddy, please. I can't see him die for real. Please. Think of us and I know that it will be enough. Daddy please. But not my will, but Yours, and as You love us.

It was heart-felt, and slightly rambling, but I meant every word.

I need Peter.

I sat, watching him, remembering the first time I'd seen him sleep. He'd been a child, a year ago. Now, with his face gaunt from pain, he looked so much older, an adult before his time.

He was a King now, so I suppose he was an adult. But there had been those moments when the child in him would show through: when he gave me those cocky, lopsided grins, when he played a prank on Edmund or Becca, when he would hug me and spin me around, or come running out of the castle to grab me when I came back from battle, and when he would come into my room at night, swathed in a blanket, terrified because of a thunderstorm. I loved that child, and I loved that adult too.

So I waited and prayed, hoping desperately that Aslan would hear me and come. I needed him to come. I hoped that He could hear me. He was my only hope.

I waited, the next day, for a sign that my prayers had been answered, but no luck. So, I, yet again, waited.

And waited.

I'm not very patient.

Especially when my King is dying.

But that's just me.

The next day, still no sign. The cordial still wasn't working. Peter was still having hallucinations. I was still forbidden from taking his pain.

I hate waiting.

But I had to.

Because there was nothing else to do but pray.

So pray I did.

I spent every spare moment in sort of an unending prayer, needing to, because it was the only way to talk to my Father, even if He didn't answer back. It was comforting to know that someone listens, no matter what crazy things I say.

Four agonizing days later, He came. I was out on the beach, needing to get away from it all. I heard a soft growl, and turned to see Him. I let out a gasp and then ran to hug Him, burying my face in His mane. He let out His laugh and then pulled away from me. "Child, you called?"

"Yes, Father. It's – it's Peter." I looked down. "Aslan, what did I do? Why couldn't we stop the fire? Why did I even start it in the first place? How could I be so stupid?"

"You started the fire because you wanted to protect your King from humiliation. The reason it didn't go out was because you need to learn to think before you act. It's your fatal flaw. It may get you or one of your friends killed someday."

"What can I do to save him?" I asked, needing Him to tell me that He could fix it easily, that it was only a matter of breathing on Peter and then Peter would be well and whole again.

"Child, I don't know. I won't be able to fix it. Only My Father, the Emperor Over The Sea can. I can only pass the pain to others, and I can't do that to you," He said, seeing the look in my eyes and knowing what I was thinking. "I can't, My Daughter."

"Please. Please! Father, I need You to. I'll do anything for it. Please!"

"Alexa . . . " There was grief and torment in His eyes.

"Please, Father. For Peter, for Narnia, for me." He bowed His great head, and I saw a single tear drop from His huge, amber eyes.

"Alright, Child. For you," He said, His voice betraying a horrible sadness.

I braced myself, closing my eyes and preparing for the pain that I knew was about to come.

I felt His breath on my face, warm and gentle, and then a searing heat spread across my leg, making me gasp. I crumpled, unable to stand, feeling the skin on my leg start to crack and break from heat. I screamed, agony racing through me, not just in my leg, but in my entire body, burning with a vengeance, clouding my mind. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't even think in complete sentences, the pain was too great. How had Peter withstood it? I was able to take a lot of pain, because of my Gift and my family history, but this was too great, even for me.

There was a bright flash of green light, and I felt as though something was leaving me, some sort of power was being pulled out of me, through my wound. There was another jerk, and a funny, freezing sensation behind my eyes, and then another gut-wrenching pull. Something else left as well, like my body was trying to heal me as I was being wounded. I heard shouting, odd disconnected sounds. Then I blacked out.

AN: Cliffhanger! Review!