AN: There is a trailer for this fanfiction on youtube now, you can link to it from my profile if you want to see it.

Most courtiers who were involved in the royal journey to the woods of the west that year probably enjoyed themselves, though the same cannot quite be said for Susan.

She was a sensitive girl for all her practicalities, and that could-at times-make her a bit silly. For most of the trip, while it was probably not completely true, she was rather under the impression that everybody else thought little of her, or else that she was hiding something. Now, to be entirely fair to anyone who may or may not have suspected her, she actually was. Because, you see, she couldn't jolly well tell Edmund to take the medallion out if its hiding place under her horse's saddle and put it into Peter's satchel now, could she? So it was still in her possession; now it was her problem. As if having to look after the rings (she was still adamant about not handing them over to Peter) was not trouble enough, thanks to Edmund, she had the medallion to worry over!

Peter, it might be pointed out, seemed to be the first to notice how off Susan was and he tried particularly hard to go out of his way to be nice to her. Caspian followed his lead, slowly realizing that Susan was making herself left out and feeling sorry for her, and of course Edmund, thankful for what she had done for him, made an effort to mumble something nice to her occasionally. But it was clearly Peter who took the first steps and showed the most overt kindness to her during the long trip.

It was around this time that Susan found herself more drawn to Peter than to Caspian. Caspian was as appealing as ever-nothing about him had changed, and he'd done nothing to warrant her scorn or displeasure, thus gaining none of it. Indeed, the king of Telmar would be someone she would for ever consider a friend (at the time: a nice person in her dream she should dearly miss when she woke up); but her girlish attraction to him was lessening. Perhaps there was a childish inclination within her much-too-grown-up self that thought, "I suppose Peter's the nice one after all" because she appreciated how he acted towards her. And she did begin to feel more and more guilty about keeping the medallion from him. But she was a loyal person and would not give in simply to relieve herself from the strain.

However, there was one instance when she found she was able to make herself useful to him. The whole royal party had been spending the night at an inn that called itself Beruna Inn (which, really, was most peculiar as it wasn't located anywhere near the actual fords of the place in Narnia known as Beruna-but that's another story) and everybody, menservants and courtiers alike, had all gone to their rooms for the evening. All except for Peter who had, being a bit tired as it had been a day involving much uphill riding and handling some arrangements between three feuding dwarfs they'd come across, fallen asleep on one of the couches in the inn's guest parlor.

Susan had stayed behind as well, thinking she would help by gathering up all the tea things (for they had all taken a very late tea an hour or so ago) and bringing them into the kitchen. As it was, she wasn't feeling all that worn-down in comparison with the others and even thought she might offer to help the staff wash up if they could use an extra hand. Just because none of this was real-at least not real in the way most real things were, not like the science and vocabulary and housework kind of real anyway-wasn't a reason to let manners slide.

The manager of the inn was not far off, but he-along with his three daughters-was currently distracted helping a new guest who had arrived carrying a very fine golden goose with gleaming feathers that were strangely sticky.

Peter was having another nightmare about the young lady who he'd heard weeping and crying and seen mostly from behind in so many of his dreams. Later, upon waking, he didn't talk much about what exactly had happened in this specific dream, but judging by the cold sweat on his forehead and the panicked look on his still-sleeping face as Susan reached down and stroked the back of his hand reassuringly, trying to comfort him, one can rightly assume it was pretty bad. Perhaps it was the worst one he'd had up until that point-sparse details put aside for the moment.

"Shh," whispered Susan, about to let go of his hand when he suddenly latched onto hers in his slumber and did not seem at all disposed to letting it go, "it's all right. It's just a dream, you're fine."

Fancy dreaming about a person having a dream-even if it is a nightmare! She thought, uncertain at this point, as to whether this long dream of hers was in fact a nightmare or not. Some parts of it seemed very lovely while others were more discouraging, so it was hard for her to make up her mind in this matter.

He moaned softly, and she moved his slightly-damp blonde bangs from his forehead, whispering in a soothing tone until he calmed down and finally let go of her hand.

When he awoke and saw that she had been staying up with him, he smiled at her and Susan found she was suddenly a bit shy. But before she had the chance to feel truly uncomfortable, Lucy and Edmund came downstairs into the parlor. Evidently, Edmund had talked Lucy-who had woken up and was unable to fall back asleep again-into raiding the kitchen for nighttime snacks, never-minding that their tea hadn't been that long ago (boys are always hungry, it seems, and Lucy was growing, so this wasn't such a surprising occurrence), and the parlor was on the way.

Peter thought of boxing Edmund's ears and he did give him a light cuff upside the head, not a sharp one to hurt him, but just to remind him to keep himself out of disgrace, and sent the children upstairs again, though he did slip them both left-over tea-cakes and the corner of one his eyes twitched a bit into what might have been a wink.

All children, even the sort that are castle-bred, lack the ability to go down a corridor and stairs quietly, so of course others had been woken now, too, and the high king had pages and menservants-and Tumnus, who it seemed had always been a mixture of both-to escort him to his room for the night.

But he did not forget Susan so readily, bidding her a tender-voiced goodnight and secretly fighting back the urge he wished he didn't feel because he knew it was thoroughly hopeless to kiss her cheek, contenting himself with her hand instead, since that could be passed off as simple kingly formality.

What he might not have noticed was that Susan blushed when he did so, looking away 'modestly' to hide it.

Tumnus noticed. "High King," he whispered when the other servants had left them and he was attending to Peter by himself, "I know it is not my place to say this, but, well, about Susan Pevensie…"

"Pish," scoffed Peter, rolling his eyes, knowing what Tumnus was working his way up to saying. "I was being courteous-that's what rulers do, Master Tumnus, as you are well aware."

"It just seems to me, your Majesty, that you're starting to admire her a bit more so than courteousness calls for."

"I don't mean to sound pompous, but you're forgetting your place, Tumnus," Peter retorted, a bit more coldly than he should have. For, maybe, deep down he knew Tumnus might not be completely mad; he might have had sound reason to worry, although the high king wouldn't admit it.

Tumnus ached a brow, lightly scuffing one of his cloven-hooves against the wooden floor pensively. "I think she likes you, too."

"You do?" Peter blurted out before regaining his senses and realizing how that sounded. "Not that I care," he amended-in spite of his best intentions, rather pompously-unable to look the faun directly in the eyes for a moment. "I simply was under the impression that she was rather smitten with King Caspian, and it strikes me as interesting that you hadn't noticed."

"Your Majesty isn't blind," said Tumnus, making sure the water in the basin by the bed-side was clean and that there was a neatly folded towel-also properly cleaned-next to it so that the king would be all set in the morning. "Certainly you've noticed that she's started paying more attention to you as of late."

"How interesting," replied Peter, trying to sound disinterested; "I hadn't noticed." This was not strictly true; he had been a little clueless in regards to this, which Tumnus noticed clear as day, but he hadn't completely missed every single sign of her paying more attention to him than usual.

Tumnus blinked. "Your Majesty, I want nothing more than to serve you honourably. What's more, I want you to be happy, I do care about you, but I feel it is also my duty to say something to you now."

"And what is that?"

"Two words should suffice in getting my point across, I think." His face became a little sad, wishing he did not have to bring up this reminder-wishing the reality of the situations at hand were otherwise. But, unfortunately, they weren't. "North-Western Ettinsmoor, your Majesty."

"By the Lion's mane!" exclaimed the high king indignantly. "I gave them my word and I intend to keep it-you know that, I know that, for pity's sake, even Caspian knows it! There is nothing between me and Susan Pevensie. Thus, there is nothing for you-or for them-to worry about."

"Not yet," said Tumnus warily.

"You may be the elder," said Peter in a clenched, unpleasant tone, "but you are still my subject and very, very out of line."

"If you will be in no further need of my services for the night," said Tumnus, sort of quietly, obviously a little more distraught than he let on, "I will be retiring to my own place for the night…I shouldn't like to forget it, speaking out of line."

"I'm sorry." Peter gave the faun a weak, apologetic smile. "I'm just…tired, that's all. I've only been a little tired."

"Nightmares, then?" His tone was more at ease now.

"Do people ever randomly glow?"

"Not humans, I don't think. Stars, perhaps." Tumnus wondered why he was asking that; it struck him as an odd question and an even odder answer to his own statement.

"Well, Lucy said I-" Peter began, shaking his head and letting his voice trail off. "Nothing, never-mind. Sorry I snapped at you, I know you're only trying to help, and I do appreciate that."

"I know, Sire."

"You don't have to worry about North-Western Ettinsmoor, though, Master Tumnus," Peter assured him, locking a firm, steady stare on his long-time adviser, servant, and friend. "Really."

"If you say so, your Majesty," sighed the faun, bending his goat-joints into a bow and then waiting for the high king's nod of dismissal, which came after a brief pause.

Tumnus was mistaken, wasn't he? As Peter laid there in bed, quite awake, he hated how uncertain he felt. It wasn't as if he didn't care about Susan, he did; but that didn't mean that it went any further than simple friendship-or that it ever would. Did it?

After the stop at Beruna Inn, the rest of the trek seemed to go a good deal faster and before they knew it, the whole lot of them were seated on their horses together outside of the start of a great dense forest, the kind that one never saw the likes of in the east.

They were all, Susan and Edmund included, dressed in beautiful hunting garb made of the sort of cloth that felt as nice as it looked and made sweet rustling noses when you moved around in them.

Susan was especially fond of the pale-purple riding-habit she'd been given, thinking it so beautiful that-if only for a passing moment-she found it flat out impossible to believe she had dreamt something like it up. But, surely, she must have as there could be no other logical explanation for all she'd been experiencing, and there were other things to admire besides her own clothing anyway. Lucy had a lovely new hat of winter-green-and-scarlet velvet, its inside lined with silk of a dull black colour. Edmund had a fine white doublet with dark purple thread stitched round the hem and round the sleeves of the under-shift that went with it.

Also, Susan thought Caspian and Peter both looked very handsome-and regal-in their black and brown tunics, their swords and hunting-horns strapped to leather belts at their waists. Peter, she thought, looked especially grand as he had a trained hawk with brown-and-gray feathers and dark gold eyes on one of his arms. He also seemed to keep in his seat just a little straighter than the king of Telmar. It wasn't that Caspian slouched, but he was so over-eager to see everything, having rarely spent any time at all in Western Narnia (most matters of state were handled in the east), that he couldn't seem to stop leaning forward constantly, and by the fifth time he did so, Susan began to feel a little annoyed by it. Peter's movements were less hurried and-she felt-more dignified.

There was a flash of white; the stag was on the move, disappearing into the forest. Caspian put his horn to his lips and blew, signaling for the chase after the magical creature to begin. Lucy giggled and, as her pony was currently standing very close to Edmund's horse, reached up and tugged on her playfellow's sleeve for no apparent reason.

Laughing, Susan shook her head and dug her heels into her horse's side so that she would not fall behind. She didn't worry about Edmund's medallion falling out and getting lost because it was no longer attached to her saddle; she was wearing it round her neck but kept it hidden behind the front of her dress (the silver chain was hidden by her collar).

Little did any of them know what they were about to enter into. The discerning reader, who knows that so many frightening adventures in these sort of tales happen when the characters go into a wood or a forest, will likely not be surprised as they read on in this story. The same cannot be said for the characters themselves. No, as for them, they would be caught unawares.

AN: Please review!