AN: This chapter is something of a set-up for some stuff that's going to be happening in the story over the next few chapters.

Lucy had lost track of how long she and Peter had been at Bolvangar. Had it been a few days, a few weeks, or even a few months? She wasn't sure. It was hard to tell time at the Experimental Station. The days were all similar shades of gray, save for when it got darker-almost black-because of an unexpected sleet downpour (there was almost always sleet instead of rain that far north) or a sudden snowstorm. As for Bolvangar's nights, neither Lucy nor Peter knew what they looked like because Mrs. Coulter never let them out after sunset.

Running away was not an option; everything had gotten too complicated for that. It was more than the tall, dark-bearded guards and the soft insistent tones of the nurses-and of Mrs. Coulter-that kept them there. There was Edmund and Susan to consider.

Lucy constantly worried about Edmund. She knew that Reepicheep had sensed something off about him from the moment they met, but now she saw it, too. Even on his own turf, he could get a distant look about him, and he always changed the subject when she asked about how his injury was healing. She considered him her friend and wanted to help him-she just didn't know how to go about it.

At first, she had thought that if she could just get a better look around Bolvangar, explore a few more rooms, find something that explained maybe about Dust (since he supposedly had it), or his father, or what exactly it was that his mother did and why, she could figure out what to do next. However, there were several hallways she was forbidden to go down, having been told they were private, and there always seemed to be someone making sure neither she or Peter ever went that way. Sometimes it was a nurse with a bland, bored looking dæmon and other times it was Susan and Maugrim or even Mrs. Coulter herself with the golden monkey riding on her shoulder or walking by her side in a grim, almost child-like manner.

Having decided fairly early on that she liked Susan, in spite of their apparent lack of common ground, Lucy-though a little annoyed-didn't mind so much when it was Mrs. Coulter's daughter who escorted her back to the parts of Bolvangar she was permitted to wander in, but she always felt an inward shutter whenever It was Mrs. Coulter herself. When the woman would grab onto her hand, her touch was gentle enough, but her grip was overtly strong. Lucy couldn't help glancing over at the monkey dæmon, half-afraid it was going to attempt to snap Reepicheep like a twig if his mistress suddenly had a change of heart and permitted it. Lucy's breath would get caught up in her throat and she found herself gulping at the hard lump, only breathing freely again once her hand was released.

If Edmund was as afraid of Mrs. Coulter as Lucy was, he never said so, though he always made haste to obey her when she told him to do something, warily eyeing that golden monkey, moving about as if he were treading on egg-shells he knew he mustn't break. The most astonishing thing about the relationship Edmund had with his mother was that, in spite of his nervous, wide-eyed dæmon and his bruised upper wrist, he evidently still loved her. He willingly, with no trace of disgust or even a faint hit of distain, would kiss her on the cheek before bed, even letting her monkey caress Ella's feathers. There was no hatred in his eyes, no sadness, just the same sort of look Peter would have given his mother, Helen. Susan was like that, too: she obeyed the letter of her mother's law even when she didn't really want to, but did not seem to resent the woman for it.

Puzzling over this one windy afternoon when there was no chance of taking a walk, Lucy, sitting up on her bed holding the silver pocket watch, whispered to Reepicheep that she wished it really was an alethiometer.

"I know what Edmund said, about them being bad, and he's probably right, I guess, but-" Lucy shook her head sadly, reaching out one hand to stroke Reepicheep's fur as he shifted into a golden-brown tomcat, sensing she needed comfort. "-but if it were an alethiometer-one with pictures and things-and I could read it and all that-it could tell me what I need to do to help him."

"Not to mention, tell us if it that cutting operation was a dream like they've been saying it was or if Mrs. Coulter's a liar." Reepicheep added, putting his slim, now cream-coloured paws on her lap and resting his head on top of them.

"But I don't know what this watch is anyway-it might be anything-and I can't read it." said Lucy, fighting back a few tears she felt springing up into her eyes.

"You don't think there could be a library somewhere in this place?" Reepicheep said, lifting his head up and cocking it to one side ponderously.

"There might be!" Lucy exclaimed, thinking perhaps she could find a book on the subject of Dust.

Reepicheep suddenly looked down-hearted. "Not that it's any use."

"How do you mean?" Lucy asked, folding her arms across her chest. To her, it seemed like such a room would be very useful indeed.

"Think of all those rooms we aren't allowed in." he reminded her, somewhat sharply. "Do you really think Mrs. Coulter is just going to let you go through all her books and papers? We're like prisoners here, Lucy, and we don't even know what she wants with us."

"You don't think-if it was real-that she means to try and cut us apart again?" Lucy asked nervously, tightening her grip on her beloved dæmon.

"No," Reepicheep shook his head. "she would have done that by now if that was her aim."

"So it must be something else." Lucy decided.

"Of course it is."

"Supposing it's to do with Dust?" she thought aloud. "With Edmund and Ella having it because they're settled and us not having it, because you can still change shape."

"But that doesn't make much sense, either." Reepicheep pointed out. "If Edmund's correct, all children with shifting dæmons haven't got Dust and one child would be as good as the next."

"You think it's Peter, then?" Lucy said, hitting a real brainwave. "I mean, if you have a dæmon and it's settled, you've got Dust, right?"

Reepicheep nodded in a 'go on' sort of way.

"And if your dæmon isn't settled, then you haven't got it yet but are going to have it when you're older...right?"

"I think that's what Edmund meant." Reepicheep agreed.

"Well, what if you didn't have a dæmon at all? Would you have Dust or wouldn't you?" Lucy went on excitedly. "I mean, Edmund has it, through Ella, but does Peter?"

"You think that's what Mrs. Coulter is really trying to find out?" Reepicheep looked a little alarmed and shifted into his beaver-in-armour form.

"Oh, Reep!" said Lucy as she stood up, clutching the silver pocket watch so tightly that her fingers ached. "You don't suppose she'd try to hurt him, do you?"

"Not if he's the only one without a dæmon in this world," Reepicheep calmed her down a bit. "I think that makes him too valuable for anyone here to harm."

"I don't care about whether or not Peter has Dust." Lucy's mouth tightened into a grim, determined line. "I care about him because he's my brother, and I want to know more about what's going on here."

"How do you propose we solve that problem?" Reepicheep's tone was slightly sarcastic, but not cruelly so.

Lucy's eyes flickered. "I am going to ask Edmund if there is a library with books about Dust and alethiometers in this building." Looking out the only window in her room rattled by a wind so powerful she could almost see it like the winds from fairy-tales that were always blowing heroines to secret places, she bit onto her pursed-out lower lip. Releasing it, she murmured, "I will ask him, I will-I don't care. I must do something."

In another part of the Experimental Station, Peter was sitting in a rocking chair by the window of his own room thinking about how very odd it was, all that had happened to bring him to this place; he didn't necessarily want to be here at Bolvangar, and yet, he didn't want to leave. It wasn't the place, he realized quickly enough, it was the girl with the wolf dæmon. It was Susan and Maugrim. He couldn't quite pin-point an exact moment when he first realized he was falling in love with her; it just sort of happened. Yes, she had her faults just like any other person, she wasn't perfect. She could be uppity and snooty, even out-right vain, but there was more to her than just those few petty qualities, and he felt he could easily deal with all of those things. That he could love her for everything she wasn't as well as for everything she was.

He still smiled when he thought of their walks together-the time they had played in the snow-and their various other common, day to day exchanges. With more than a little anticipation, he looked forward to her visits and conversation. Strange as it might seem, Peter was even starting to like Maugrim because he was a part of her-feeling excited when the wolf came into view, knowing Susan couldn't be far behind.

It was nearly tea-time if the clock ticking on the wall opposite to the window was correct, and he was glad of it. While he usually took breakfast, lunch, and supper with Lucy in a little antechamber close to the back door of the building, his tea was brought up to his room for him to have-in theory-by himself. Occasionally it had been a nurse who brought the familiar brass-coloured tray in at half-passed four, but more often, it was Susan and Maugrim. And they almost always stayed for a good hour or so to keep him company.

Though Maugrim hadn't much liked this arrangement and had spent much of the time by the door (the furthest distance he could have gone from Susan who sat across from Peter, setting the tray down on the little table in the corner) growling at nothing, in time he got tired of this and eventually curled up by the fireplace and dozed for a little while. With his eyes closed and his head resting in such a delicate, charming fashion, he looked almost peaceful.

It was, much to Peter's joy and relief, Susan and Maugrim that brought the tea-tray on this particular day. He meant to tell her how he felt, hoping she just might feel the same way. His mouth opened twice and closed up again both times, he wasn't quite ready to say it yet.

That's alright, he thought to himself as he watched Maugrim settle into his place by the fire with surprising ease and comfort, I have a whole hour to get up the nerve to say something, if I can only figure out how to word it without blurting it out like an idiot-which is probably what's going to happen anyway.

Susan's mouth moved and she was apparently saying something but he didn't hear what it was.

Peter blinked at her apologetically. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I said, you're quiet today." Susan repeated herself as she turned a tea-cup right side up and poured some hot water into it.

"I have a lot on my mind." Peter came up with, watching her roll up one of the sleeves of her dress and gently squeeze the juice out of a lemon wedge into the water.

A remarkably small spoonful of sugar was scooped into her cup in a swift, delicate motion as she reached up with her other hand to pull a loose strand of dark hair away from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. "Anything you want to talk about?"

Yes, actually, I think I'm in love with you, please pass the butter to your left. "Uh...the um...I um...could you pass the butter?" That wasn't really the part of his thought he had wanted to get across but it was better than nothing.

"Peter, I-" Susan started to say something as she handed him the crystal-glass butter holder, but she seemed to lose her nerve for a moment, glancing over at Maugrim.

Her wolf-dæmon lifted his head to look back at her, rolled his eyes, and mouthed, "Just tell him." He hadn't wanted this to happen, but somehow he had known, a good while before his mistress had, that it would happen anyway. Maugrim had seen her fascination with the boy from the first and had watched, rather sulkily, as it grew. And he knew it had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that Peter had no dæmon.

She cleared her throat and tried again. "Peter, I...life is like a stream..."

"Not the stream metaphor," Maugrim groaned, putting his paw over the space between his eyes and nose and whimpering softly to himself. He was aware that his human liked to sound smart, especially when she was nervous, but this was just ridiculous.

"...it takes unexpected turns and there are reefs and things..." Susan wasn't sure how this was going to help, but it sounded about right. "...and you think the current is going one way, but then it goes the other...and when it comes to that point..."

Maugrim moved his paw back down onto the rug and barked, trying to snap her out of it-needless to say, it didn't work.

"I'm sorry, you've lost me." Peter finally told her when nearly twenty minutes had gone by and she was still going on and on about currents. "What are you talking about?"

"I just meant that sometimes a person feels a certain way without meaning to." she blurted out, taking a sip of her no longer hot lemon water, trying to look demure and composed.

"Okay..." Peter nodded, still confused.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Maugrim got up and walked over to them. "she's in love with you and for some unexplainable reason, it makes her talk about streams!"

"Maugrim!" cried Susan in a distressed tone.

Feeling her embarrassment, the wolf instantly regretted saying anything, remembering that he had never wanted her to fall for Peter in the first place.

"Susan," Peter found that he couldn't stop smiling as he reached over and gently placed one of his hands over hers. "I feel the same way." He paused for a minute, then added, "Well except for the bit about the stream."

Susan shook her head. "Streams-"

"Let's just forget about the bloody stream, alright?" Peter whispered, choking back a laugh.

She nodded in agreement, her face felt hot and flushed, she knew she couldn't trust her mouth or her voice at the moment. "Okay, good idea."

Though neither of them actually remembered getting up, they found within a few moments that they were no longer sitting down across from each other, but were, instead, standing up. Susan felt Peter's arms slip around her waist; he pulled her closer.

Maugrim felt his human's pleasure and was once again left in an awkward position because lovers' dæmons often touched each other-and Peter had no dæmon.

"I love you." Peter said, leaning in to kiss her.

Susan sighed and kissed him back, putting her arms around his neck.

She may be happy now, Maugrim thought darkly, but I shudder to think what will happen when this gets out, she's thirteen years old, a lady of breeding, and in love with a dæmonless nobody-just how did this happen?

Peter pulled away from her lips and kissed her cheek, her neck, and then her earlobe.

If Susan had been a less refined young lady, she might have giggled when she felt his breath against the side of her ear. As it was, she was somewhat tempted to, but she fought the urge back by turning her head and pressing her lips against his again.

Maugrim noticed the time on the clock; remembering that they had to get ready for supper with some guests Mrs. Coulter was having in one of the spare dinning halls in the north wing. "Susan!"

"Not now," Susan murmured, not wanting to leave Peter's arms just yet.

"Susan!" her dæmon pawed at the skirt of her dress so insistently that she couldn't ignore it for very long.

Pulling away from Peter, Susan pouted at Maugrim and mouthed, "What?"

"We're going to be late, we've been in this room for almost three hours." Maugrim snarled, glaring at Peter as if it were his fault.

Susan gasped and picked up the tea-tray as she came back to reality with a thump. "Oh dear." To Peter, she said, "I really have to go, but I'll try to come back tomorrow."

Peter nodded, still in something of a daze. "Sure."

"Come, Maugrim." Susan said quickly, tapping her leg like she was calling a pet dog.

As they left the room together and headed down the hallway, Maugrim hissed, "Susan Coulter, you're going to get us into so much trouble!"

"You were the one who told him that I loved him." Susan shot back pointedly.

"You wouldn't shut up about streams!" Maugrim snarled, his ears pricking up while he spoke.

"What am I going to do?" Susan winced, finally realizing that she was getting in too deep.

"How should I know?" Maugrim said sort of meanly, scratching one of his claws against the pale-coloured hallway tile. "You never listen to me anyway."

AN: Please leave a review.