Disclaimer: I don't own the Chronicles of Narnia.

A/N: Okay. So this is going to be an abnormally long author's note: first off, I'm so sorry for the delay in this chapter, but it can be explained. I had to attend some (amazing) church camps in Canada, and those literally ate up my life. I was gone for two weeks for that. And then I came home, wrote a chapter despite extreme amounts of writer's block—and realized it was absolute crap. But because I had made you all wait so long already, I just posted it regardless. And then a reviewer pointed out a really, really, really stupid mistake that I did (I seem to be doing those a lot, no?), and so I took it down and re-wrote it. That's the explanation for the wait.

So, to sum it all up—I am so so so sorry for the delay. Please read and review?

Second A/N: There's a bit of a Christian theme in this chapter, but I'm not aiming to offend. I just thought since these books were kind of Christian themselves, and I am one too...so no one be offended, please :).


Whenever people talked about how they felt before they fainted, they had always mentioned extreme dizziness and a head rush, before stars appeared and they blacked out. Anne had always thought this too over exaggerated; kind of like the people who saw fireworks during a kiss. No one actually saw stars or fireworks, of course. That was just for show.

But now, she was more inclined to agree with them. She felt her head spin, her stomach revolt, a huge rush fill her brain—and even the stars. Little neon pink and green ones, as her vision whirled about most unwelcomingly. She blinked quickly, once, twice, three times, ordering herself to stay in control, and gasped for air. Soon everything was back to normal again. Anne, however, would never doubt those describing the stars again (she was still in question about the fireworks, however).

It wasn't that blood made her faint. She had worked in a hospital for the wounded for almost five months. It was just…he looked so dead. His skin was pale and drawn, his lips parched, his eyes shut. He was so still and so frightening. It gave her the chills.

"We're going to have to get a surgeon in here," Elizabeth said grimly. "It looks like he has the tip of a weapon—arrow, maybe?—still stuck in his chest. Unless we can get it out, cleanse the area, and stop the bleeding…" Her voice faded away, but everyone knew what the rest of the sentence was.

"Damn it!" Edmund cried again. It wasn't until he said this that Anne looked at him. Then she realized that the boy was hurt too; his pants were stained with blood as well, matted and sticking to his right leg.

"Your Majesty, I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside," Elizabeth said calmly, reaching for disinfectant solution. "You too, Anne. Oh, and I'll send someone to awaken Susan and Lucy. Their Highnesses would want to know about this as well."

Edmund whirled to face the other girl, his face twisted with worry. Quickly it became apparent that he intended to unleash all his frustration and helplessness upon her.

"YOU!" He snarled. "What are you doing here? I don't want you here."

She was offended—scared at first, and then just angry. He was being ridiculous. Suddenly something inside of her snapped. "I'm here because I care for Peter, too," Anne retorted. "You can't stop me, either, Edmund, so you might as well accept it. Stop being such a prick. And I believe she told us to wait outside."

Edmund gaped, open mouthed, at Anne for a few seconds. Then he quickly came to his wits and exited the infirmary to the waiting room. There was an awkward pause between the two, until at last Anne decided to ask: "What exactly happened?"

Edmund scowled at the girl, but answered regardless. "We had just signed a ceasefire, an armistice, with the Buffalomen, and were riding home. Unfortunately, a small group of rebels didn't agree with the majority choice to surrender. They attacked us, ambushed us—we rode Peter back as quickly as possible."

"What happened to the rebels?" Anne asked.

Edmund shrugged in reply. "Most of them were captured, but some were killed. I didn't stay around to see what their punishment was."

"Execution?" She pressed quietly.

"Most likely." His tone of voice was somber.

Another pause, in which they both were left to their own thoughts and worries. Edmund began pacing again, picking himself up and walking around the little room again and again, frowning at the floor.

"I hate war." Anne said suddenly. He looked up at her in surprise, stopping.

"Why?"

"Because all it results in is death and pain," she answered. "And hurt and hatred."

"But sometimes it's necessary," he replied. "You have to go to war to ensure that all is just and right."

"Nothing justifies hatred," she whispered.

"You're such a girl," he scoffed. She glared at him.

"And you're such a prick." She shot back.

"Really? And how, exactly, did you arrive at that conclusion?" He asked venomously."You've been nothing but unnecessarily mean to me since the day I arrived, which justifies prickiness. And I would like to know why." She lifted her chin a good few inches and continued to glare at the boy across from her.

There was a silence, in which Edmund tilted his head at her.

"You're different, you know," he remarked suddenly.

"War changes people," she replied, shrugging. "You still haven't answered my question."

"It's because I didn't know where you belonged," he finally replied, minutes later. She quirked an eyebrow and opened her mouth to say something, but he raised a hand and stopped her. "Just let me get this all out before you say anything. You didn't fit in my picture of Narnia. I had…have...this ideal portrait of what life here should be like, and you just messed it up."

"How did I mess it up?" She queried, before she could stop herself.

"You reminded me of me," Edmund replied. "I saw the old Edmund in you. And I hated it."

"What did you do in the past?" She asked softly, well aware that this was delicate ground on which she tread. "Why do you hate yourself so much?"

"I don't hate myself!" He snapped. "I hate my past."

"Well…sometimes we just have to accept that we're not perfect. And that we all make mistakes. And then we have to move on. I don't mean we should forget about it, but we shouldn't let it consume us." She said the words slowly, carefully. But nonetheless, he was offended.

"You're one to talk!" He cried. "Peter's always going on about how something traumatic happened in your past, and how we have to be gentle with you. Why don't you take some of your own advice? We all make mistakes. Move on!" He sprang up again and began pacing.

She, on the other hand, slumped back into her seat. We all make mistakes. Move on! The words rang in her head, again and again and again. Move on! Could…she? Could she move past her father and brother's probable deaths? Could she move past her mother's alcoholism? The past belonged in the past…right?

The whole concept was so mind-boggling—she had been stuck in this rut, this valley for so long, dwelling on the past. And perhaps…it was time to move on. Not forget about it, necessarily, but to stop it from consuming her. To live, and to grow, without all these backward glances. Life suddenly seemed a hell of a lot brighter.

Now if only Peter would get better…she settled into her chair and closed her eyes briefly, because she felt a headache coming on. Little animals were chewing at her insides, and worry was flooding her mind. She hadn't prayed in a long time; not since her father and brother were reported MIA. She thought it was God's fault that life had turned out so bitter. But…now? She couldn't help but have a slight appreciation for the bitterness, for it had helped her grow. And without it she wouldn't have fallen into Narnia, this beautiful world. She wouldn't have met Peter—this beautiful boy man. Or Thandril, or Lucy, or Susan, or even Edmund.

Perhaps…what her mother had said, when she used to read the Bible regularly, was true. "Nothing in life happens on accident, Anne." Maybe God was sovereign. Maybe He did have a plan for her, and maybe everything did work together for her good. She would just…have to take that blind leap of faith. She would just have to keep trusting in Him and in His Glory.

And so she prayed for the first time in months, that God keep Peter safe. She just kept repeating that, over and over and over. God, keep him safe.


Suddenly, she jolted awake (when had she fallen asleep? She didn't remember) and blinked once, twice, groggily at the (too) bright sun. Her limbs were sore and stiff, and so she stretched them experimentally.

"What happened?" She asked hazily. Her back hurt in amazing quantities. She looked about her to see that the walls were starch white; as were the chairs, the sheets, the table. The room smelled like sanitary cleansers. She must be in the hospital.

"Well," an entirely too familiar voice drawled. "I would think it rather obvious. You fell asleep."

"I know that," she said, scowling at Edmund. "I meant what happened to Peter." She rubbed her eyes again and noticed that Susan and Lucy were also in the waiting room, sitting a bit further down.

"He's fine," Susan replied, smiling at Anne. "We used some of Lucy's cordial to save him. He's weak from blood loss, but he will be alright. It's good to see you again, Anne."

"It's good to see you too, Susan."

"He's awake, you know," Lucy interjected. She gestured towards the beds. "If you want to talk to him, that is."

"He is?" Anne asked, swallowing. Suddenly she realized that she was in yesterday's clothes, her hair was absolutely wild, her breath probably disgusting. And she felt incredibly nervous and self-conscious.

"Yes," Susan said, smiling. "Go talk." She gently pulled the other girl out of her chair and pushed her towards the beds. She stumbled nervously into the room and headed over to Peter's section. He was busy talking to a nurse, but when the chair by his beside squeaked as she sat down in it, he abruptly turned to stare at her.

"Anne?" He asked incredulously. She had forgotten what his voice sounded like; warm and deep and strong. She felt her heart lift just with seeing him and hearing him again.

"It's good to see you, Peter," she whispered. "I'm glad you're back."

He smiled at her and said: "I'm glad I'm back, too."


A/N: Oooh short. I just thought it'd be a good place to end it, after all this hectic confusion and drama. Some peace and quiet and happiness for once, eh? Always pleasant.

Anyway, I'm really sorry for the abnormally long wait. I really do suck at updating :(. But please forgive me and read and review regardless! I do appreciate you all.

And remember—five, please? Thanks!