For Almyra. Many thanks for the inspiration!

Phillip

Aslan greeted me happily when I entered his tent. The sight of him filled me with such relief that I barely finished my bow before I was hugging him.

"Oh, Aslan," I whispered, reaction setting in upon me, "he's so pale."

"But better for having seen you with his own eyes, child," he replied.

How did he always know to say exactly the right thing? I blinked back my tears, the tears I hadn't dared let Peter see lest it upset him while he was so deathly sick. I drew back, biting my lip as I tried to regain mastery of myself. My worries seemed to spill from my lips.

"Felern is anxious. The break isn't healing correctly and he thinks it may be infected."

"I know. I know, Edmund. Have faith that your brother has the strength to fight this battle as well. Your sisters are a day away. He will endure until then."

I nodded, sniffing and resisting the temptation to curl up in a ball and cry. Aslan cocked his head, then said,

"Come this way. There is something I would show you, young king."

We stepped out of the warm tent and into the wane winter sunlight, moving through the camp. I noticed quite a few of the tents had been moved about as if to accommodate more people. Oreius had moved the small camp from Caldron Pool over to here, it seemed, and brought all the scouts. There were quite a few Dryads and Nymphs about and they all greeted us with enthusiasm and delight. I was a little offended that they should be so happy when Peter was so very ill, but I reasoned there was really nothing they could do about it or for him and they were naturally bubbly creatures. After a moment I saw the reason for their joy and understood why they were so very pleased.

"There," said Aslan, sitting down and motioning with his head what he had brought me to see.

Elated Dryads bowed and sang out to me as they made room for me in the circle they had formed. In the center of their ring stood a sapling with a straight trunk, silvery bark, and rounded, blue and green leaves.

The Tree of Protection. I stared at it in wonder and amazement. It was almost as tall as me already. I stepped towards it slowly, glancing back at the smiling Dryads watching me.

"Can I . . .?"

"Yes, King Edmund!" called a beautiful, elderly Birch. "Please, touch it!"

I was almost afraid to lay a finger on it. The sapling was so very lovely and I had been consumed by darkness. It seemed that by touching it I would somehow do it harm. And yet it was here not just for Narnia, but for me. I had been the foremost reason Peter had brought this back.

I touched one of the leaves - a blue one, since I could scare believe a tree could have blue leaves, even in Narnia - and it was thin and slightly fuzzy. I turned it over. Underneath it was silver. To stand under this tree when it was fully grown would be . . . remarkable. The bark was thin and smooth for now. It felt like polished wood beneath my hand.

I stood holding a branch, lost in the feeling of contentment and safety this tiny tree somehow conveyed to me. It was like being with Aslan or held by my father or Peter's warm embrace when I climbed into his bed because I was cold. It was a sense of safety, of trust and belonging.

And suddenly I knew what I had been missing for years. Even before we stepped through the wardrobe I had been poisoned. Jadis had seen and exploited that weakness most cruelly, and her magic had stunted my ability to truly feel. Standing this close to the tree, touching it, seemed to drive that venom out of me for a moment. Thanks to my brother, her magic held no sway over me.

So lost was I in this revelation, this unbelievable freedom to feel, that I didn't see the elderly birch until she was upon me. Smiling, she bent one of the branches down slightly for me to see

"Majesty, look!"

On the end of the branch were a few small flowers, surprisingly plain for so beautiful a tree but remarkable sweet-smelling.

"It's blooming," I breathed, so amazed as to state the obvious. I had thought I would have to wait until the next harvest. I was never so happy to be wrong.

"It will have fruit before the morn," she promised, gently releasing the branch.

"Remarkable," I whispered.

"Fortunate are we to be called upon by Aslan to nurture and raise this gift," she replied.

I smiled up at her. "I know exactly how you feel, Lady."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

My next order of business was the Horse I had let borrow my brother. Celer escorted me to where a series of tents had been set up for the Centaurs and he opened the window on the leeward side so that I could see. I stood on my toes to see a shadowy form lying still and content.

"I'll fetch him some water," I said, knowing he always woke up thirsty.

"Majesty," said Celer, halting me, "I will fetch some water. Do you go see to your friend."

"Thank you, Captain," I replied, touched by his offer and well aware (as was Celer) that in my present state I'd end up wearing most of the water anyway.

I entered the dusky tent. It smelt of sweet hay and horse. There was a bed of straw piled up and Phillip lay upon it, fast asleep. He was in better shape than Peter, that was a certainty, though he was thin and battered and there was a half-healed cut across his nose. I just stood and looked at him, much as I had with Peter, and I silently thanked Aslan that my friend was safely returned. When I stepped closer I saw he had more hurts and scrapes than I had first noticed and I wondered what story they told. I felt my shoulders slump in sympathy and a tightness gripped my throat. Like Peter, he had given his all for me. How did you ever thank a person for such a magnificent sacrifice?

Celer returned with a bucket of water and with a smile he set it on the ground beside me before withdrawing. I cast him a grateful look, then sat in the hay in front of Phillip, wrapping my cape around me for warmth. I should have brought him some honey oat cakes. They were his favorite indulgence. Well, once we were back at Cair Paravel I'd make it my duty to see that he overindulged.

The bedding was soft and comfortable, the tent was warm, my body was aching and exhausted, and I nodded off within minutes. I woke later when I was nudged by a soft, whiskery nose.

"Phillip?" I asked hoarsely, blinking blearily at him as I sat up. The Horse was awake and far more alert than I and he looked extremely pleased to see me. I rubbed my eyes then let out a loud sneeze, scattering bits of hay from my hair, and he chuckled. He nudged me with his nose again and let out a happy sigh.

"Edmund," he said softly, laying his head on my should and pressing his cheek against the side of my head, a Horse's hug. He almost knocked me over into the hay with his affection and I was glad for it. I rose to my knees and wrapped my arms around his neck, reveling in the smell and feel of my best friend in all of Narnia. I pressed him close, listening to his long breaths and assuring myself, as I had with Peter, that he really was here and alive. I held him for a long time, until my arms started to grow tired and I could finally trust myself not to get teary eyed.

"Thank Aslan for you," he finally said, his voice betraying his anxiety. "I have been so worried."

I smiled instead of crying. "I just said the same thing about you." I drew back, looking at him closely. "Are you hurt?"

"Not badly. Really." He shifted uncomfortably, seemingly embarrassed by something.

"Phillip?"

"My tail is broken," he finally admitted.

I blinked. "That sounds . . . awkward?" I suggested, feeling rather awkward myself.

He shook his mane. "You have no idea."

"No, I don't. Lucy can fix that when she gets here. Did Peter behave?"

For a moment he considered. "Mostly."

"I'm surprised that much." I combed his forelock with my fingers, something I only dared do when we were alone since Horses considered it gauche to petted. Luckily Phillip cared less for equine etiquette than indulging my very Human impulse to touch a beloved friend. "Oh, Phillip, I've missed you!" I sniffed.

"And I you, my king. Are you well? How have you fared? You're very pale and you look thin."

I smiled wanly. "I . . . have not had a very easy time of late."

"Tell me."

"No." I swallowed, trying not to let memory spoil the joy of this reunion. "Not now. I did what Peter asked and survived. My tale can wait. I'd much rather hear about you and your adventures. Was it very horrible?"

"Sometimes. There were moments of fear and desperation and - ugh!" He shuddered. "Mostly it was enjoyable. Mountains and the most fantastic creatures - Giants and Seelie and Krakens! We met Winged Horses! Winged Horses, Edmund! They were guarding the Garden in the West!"

"What?" I breathed, gaping at him. There hadn't been Winged Horses in Narnia for hundreds of years. They were practically mythological. "Really?"

"Your brother rode one! Her name was Rhye and she was . . . she was as adorable as she was beautiful. We saw . . . Oh, we saw the most wonderful things!"

"What was the most wonderful?" I asked eagerly, hunkering down for this tale of marvels.

He looked at me, his weariness and relief a reflection of my own.

"You," he finally said.