Author's note: Beta'd by BellatrixTheStar.

OOOOO

"Stop drumming your fingers on the table!" growled the innkeeper from behind the counter with what Dracus thought might have been a scoff. Then continuing to clean the glasses, the innkeeper muttered another flowery piece of poetry under his breath. Dracus snorted, retracting his hands from the rough surface of the table. He rested his fingers on his knees and continued the drumming in a relatively quieter clap-clap with one finger. The innkeeper rolled his eyes.

It had been only twenty minutes but Dracus could swear two eternities had passed already. He continued the nervous drumming, trying to divert his mind to the rhythm and forget the worry gripping at his heart. It didn't work. He sighed, the very possible and violently catastrophic outcomes of this asinine plan flooding his mind again.

What if it didn't go as planned?

What if something happened to Edmund?

What if he died? What would he tell Queen Lucy? More importantly, what would he tell Peter? Dracus was sure the High King would kill him for leading his brother to his death.

He began biting his nails. How could he be ignorant enough to agree to this? Oh, Aslan, what had he done?

"The gods will it; he'll be fine," the innkeeper said in a low voice, the words almost went unheard. Dracus blinked at the man, bewildered.

"I'm sorry?"

"The King. He'll be alright," he repeated.

Dracus stared, open-mouthed. "How do you—"

The door opened, the brass hanging clinked, catching everyone's attention at once except the three drunkards in the corner. The soldiers exchanged confused glances and Dracus leapt to his feet. It was Edmund.

Shirt soaked in blood, shoulder dark with the crimson liquid, and cloudy eyes staring ahead at the counter. Dracus flinched to see clearly shattered toes and the bone of his foot cracked. Edmund looked at him, and Dracus noticed, wincing, the sheer amount of pain in his eyes.

"Edmund! Oh, Aslan—"

He rushed to his King's aid and caught him just as he fell.

"Edmund!" Dracus said as he lowered him to the floor, patting his cold cheek. But the narrow slits between his lids had swept closed. Dracus breaths twisted into panicked gasps. The innkeeper hadn't moved but they had been surrounded by the three soldiers, all looking at them with bleary eyes, their stinking breath thickened the air, stuffing the room. Dracus shielded his King's body from them.

"Tash curse me if I'm mistaken. But I say, that's the Narnian King!" one of them exclaimed. Dracus ignored him, trying to wake Edmund with another soft tap to his cheek.

"No, he's not! Why would he be here, in this tarnished inn; the grandeur of the Old Palace doesn't satisfy him?" his companion's voice followed his, tailed by a hiccup.

"I swear by Zardeenah!"

"You have revelled too much on this seventh night, Sarrek."

"But—"

"Out! All of you!" shouted the innkeeper, suddenly appearing through the narrow space between the tables that smelled of Ale. He began shooing out the soldiers with waving motions of his plump hands. Dracus looked down at the pale King again, tears sharply stinging in his eyes. He had failed him, had killed him. Oh, Aslan, he had killed him!

"Edmund?"

No response. Not a twitch in his muscles. Just the shallow rise of his chest. And then it sank agonisingly fast.

Dracus was about to beg him for forgiveness when two hands grabbed Edmund's arms. He looked up and found the innkeeper smiling at him. "Help me with him, will you?"

Dracus blinked blankly, then coming back to his senses, breaking out of his bubble of stupor, he nodded and helped the innkeeper lift Edmund up. Dracus held his legs while the innkeeper slid his arms under Edmund's. His limp body swayed between them as they settled him onto one of the tables that the innkeeper had cleared previously. Edmund's head lolled back as soon as they let him go, making Dracus' spirits fall. The innkeeper suddenly shoved him aside and he was about to protest when he realised what the man was doing.

With a knife whose edges were relatively blunt, he cut Edmund's shirt, and then stripped it off, revealing the intensity of the wound. The blade—razor-sharp—that King Edmund had been stabbed with had gone straight through the flesh and bone. Dracus could see the table's brown colour through the small hole in the shoulder. Blood—almost as dark as black—was pouring out rapidly, ceaselessly, making the sight almost unbearable to see. Dracus glanced at Edmund's foot; it was evidently broken. How had he managed to walk here? A surge of fury flared in him, making him tighten his jaw. He could feel the fury fill his eyes. Whoever had done this was going to pay.

"The gods have been merciful," the innkeeper said, "press your hands on the wound," taking Dracus' hands and pressing them onto his shoulder. "Don't fret, boy. The gods will it. He will live." And he ran in the direction of the counter; he disappeared around the corner of the dark corridor behind the counter.

The hot liquid bubbling beneath his fingers, receding but still tickling under his skin, was threatening to make his stomach turn and make him spill his lunch but he didn't move his hands. He glanced around, squinting as the lantern hanging directly above him glinted brightly in the corner of his watery eyes. On the chair next to him, there was a table-cloth. He picked it up and pressed it onto Edmund's shoulder, hoping it would prove to be more effective than his hands—which didn't have a trace of brown left; they were red, utterly. His hands were trembling. He could only wish the innkeeper would hurry.

Then, abruptly, Edmund's eyes flew open. Edmund pressed his lips in a thin line and stifled a scream. His gaze was unfocused, and Dracus wasn't sure if he knew where he was.

"Edmund?"

"Peter…" the King choked out and Dracus shook his head.

"No, it's Dracus."

Edmund swallowed, licking his ragged lips. "No…Peter…"

Dracus let out an unintentional sob. "He isn't here…I'm sorry…he…"

"Please…" Edmund said, breathing heavily. "Peter…"

"Stand aside, will you?" the innkeeper said, hurrying out of the back of the inn. He was balancing a metallic bowl filled with clear water in one hand, and held a rough cloth in the other. Dracus moved out of the man's way, allowing him to quickly clean the wound, which did little good to stop the blood flow. Edmund winced, his muffled screams broke Dracus' heart. He thrashed on the table, calling out for his brother.

"Please…No! Stop, please! Peter!"

"Hold him down, boy!" the innkeeper said, the extreme loudness of his voice making Dracus flinch. Dracus wasted no time and pinned Edmund's arms down as the innkeeper worked to wrap his shoulder with a makeshift bandage.

"Edmund! Stop it! We're trying to help you!" Dracus shouted when Edmund continued to twist and turn on the table, repeating his brother's name weakly. When the innkeeper was done, looking only marginally satisfied with his work, he hurried back to the counter. He was gone before Dracus could stop him.

"Edmund! You'll hurt yourself!" he said.

"No! Let me go!" Edmund shouted in return, hoisting himself up from the table, throwing weak punches at Dracus, who dodged them with ease. He ducked to avoid Edmund's fist, gripping his arms more tightly, forcing him down to the table. With some effort, he was able to get him to lie down again. When Edmund accepted the fact that he was too weak to move, he settled down, going lax as he began repeating his brother's name again. Tears sparkled his cheeks, drawing wet trails, as he begged for his brother to come. Dracus hadn't felt more powerless in his life.

The innkeeper returned after some time, holding a small vial that was glimmering yellow in his hand. He uncorked the vessel and pressed it to Edmund's lips; he was reluctant to drink anything at the moment. Dracus trusted the man's intentions, he had saved Edmund's life, but he couldn't help asking.

"What…what is that?"

"It'll help him sleep."

Dracus nodded, and smiled when Edmund finally took a sip. He gulped and mumbled something indistinct before his eyes almost instantly slipped closed and his head limped onto his good shoulder. Dracus looked at the innkeeper gratefully.

"I can loan you my horse. I think you will want to take him back?"

Dracus sniffed, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Thank you. Who...who are you?"

The innkeeper smiled.

~o~

In the moonlight, the fountain was gleaming, the splashing water sparkled, throwing the silver shines of the thin lines of water falling. The sight had caught Lucy in a sort of trance. She didn't know how long she had been sitting there, chin resting on her palms, knees drawn up on the chair, and just staring at the water.

She shifted uncomfortably and yawned. It was near to midnight. She leant back in the chair, sliding her hands behind at the stone steps; her fingers brushed past something sharp.

"Ouch," she muttered, putting aside the quill. She had only now finished the letter. She sighed, sittin up straighter.

Dracus and Edmund hadn't come back from wherever they had gone yet and Lucy was growing impatient. Demiera and Athelius seemed to be worried about something; as if they knew what her brother and Dracus were doing. Lucy decided she would throttle them if any one of them came back with even a scrape. No, worse, she would submit them to Susan. The thought did little to calm her, and she felt anger fill her again.

Thud-thud.

She was on her feet as soon as she heard the hoofs approaching outside the large doors of the courtyard.

Straightening her gown meticulously, and brushing off her hair from her face, she hurried to the door and pulled it open, her fists clenching around the handles. Oh, she wouldn't let them go without a scolding this time. But the anger instantly buried itself, and every fibre of her frame chilled with worry when she saw the look on Dracus' grave face and the horse he held by its reins. The horse was carrying someone; someone unconscious and hurt, wrapped in coarse blankets. A bloody arm had fallen out. Lucy's heart fluttered and her breath hitched.

She looked at Dracus questioningly. Pleadingly. But he merely pulled the horse into the courtyard, never meeting her eyes, face sombre.

Demiera and Athelius, alarmed by the sudden sounds, had rushed out of their rooms.

Tears were welling up behind her eyes, but she blinked them away.

Dracus finally glanced her way and lowered his head in an apology. Then, he pulled down Edmund from the horse, almost losing his balance under his weight. She followed her brother and Dracus into the chambers, hardly aware, in her bleak concern, of her Captain and Demiera's presence behind her.

He lowered Edmund to the bed, gently placing his head on the pillows. Only now did she get a good look at her brother. His chest was bare, and smudged with blood; his shoulder had been wrapped in some kind of temporary bandage which, despite its thinness, had managed to reduce the blood-flow. She wouldn't have noticed his foot, but it was hard to miss once Dracus glanced at it. Two of his ttoes had been shattered, and the tendons had been ripped apart.

For the first time in many years, Lucy regretted becoming a healer. A sob escaped her and she pulled out her cordial with trembling hands only to be stopped by Demiera's gentle hand. With a shake of her head, Demiera stomped to Edmund's side to examine his injuries further.

Lucy shifted her gaze to Dracus. "What happened?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," Dracus said regretfully but uttered nothing more. He hung his head low.

"Dracus. Dracus, look at me," she implored. The Knight, hesitantly, did. "Tell me what happened."

"I can't go against my King."

"And am I not your Queen?"

Dracus turned away, copper skin hiding against the almost black walls. "Dracus! Tell. Me."

He didn't speak, and his silence was infuriating. "Dracus!"

"I'm sorry."

"You—you discordant, ignorant, unfaithful...child!"

"Queen Lucy!" Athelius shrieked from one corner, incredulous that the Queen should say that.

Lucy swallowed, shifting her attention to her brother who was lying unconscious and possibly dying in front of her. She rubbed her eyes and sat on the edge of the bed, taking her brother's hand in hers, clasping them in a firm grip. She watched as Demiera continued her inspection, and prayed silently. She desperately wished for her older siblings' presence in that moment. Susan would have been calmer. She would know what to do. And Peter—

Well, Peter wouldn't have let this happen in the first place.

Demiera looked up from her brother and then at her. "His injuries are not mortal, Queen Lucy. Save your cordial for the worst."

Lucy wanted to protest but the healer's reassuring eyes stopped her. She nodded reluctantly and tightened her grip on Edmund's hand. When Edmund suddenly moaned and started twisting on the bed, Lucy gently stroked his hair, hoping to calm him.

"Shh...Ed, you're safe. Hush."

Edmund relaxed under her touch and she continued to caress his hair, and then his cheeks. She felt a tear slide down her cheek, and wiped it away, determined to be strong. Breaking down now wasn't going to much good.

"Your Majesty, perhaps it would be best to let Demiera tend to him," Athelius said, making his presence known again.

She nodded at the faun and then at Dracus, then followed them both out of the room and shut the door.

~o~

Lucy extended her hand towards him; he seemed to sense her presence and turned to his right side, subconsciously enveloping himself in the rich blankets. She couldn't help but smile at the innocence of her brother's face, even in so much agony. Demiera had given him Sorem to help him sleep.

Had it only been two hours?

She took in a shaky breath. She had sat there for the longest time, guarding her brother's sleep, praying to Aslan for him. How had this happened? Why couldn't he—just once—listen to her?

"Queen Lucy?"

She looked over her shoulder to see Dracus quietly enter the room. She gave him a grim smile, conscious of her previous words, cruel and brutish, and turned to her brother again.

"How is he?" he asked.

"Better. Much better."

He took a seat on one of the sofas and then said, "Lucy, I'm—"

"It wasn't your fault, Dracus."

"But you don't even—"

"I don't need to know."

Edmund turned again under the blanket, rolling to his back. She smiled. But her brother's peaceful sleep was short-lived. His face tensed and he began shifting uncomfortably, tossing and turning. Before Lucy could react, his eyes shot open. He was gasping for breath.

"Go back to sleep, Ed. You're fine."

"Lu—Lucy?"

"I'm here," she said, smiling.

To her surprise, he began sobbing. "I didn't mean to kill her, Lu."

"What?"

"I swear I didn't mean to kill her. I don't know…I don't know what happened. I—"

"Edmund, what are you talking about?"

"I didn't mean to…"

The rest of the words were indistinct and in another moment, his eyes slipped close again. She glanced at Dracus with a quizzical look. He suggested it might have been a dream. Lucy could only nod.

~o~

The ground had been painted in crimson, blood spread over the canvas that was the floor. None of the original white remained. He would have thought it a gruesome sight, as the others had. But this wasn't the darkest, the worst of all he had witnessed on the Western Fronts ten years ago. He knelt down beside the girl's body, took one of her thin hands in his and whispered a prayer to Zardeenah for her peace. His heavy golden chain tinkled against the silver, laurel carved buttons of his tunic. He slid his ring back and forth on his finger and asked, "Who did this?"

"It was a Barbarian, Lord Serkan. A tall, young boy. Pale. Dark hair…" one of them said.

"And you allowed him to escape?"

"I thought Dimeh could…He was only a boy…"

"And the poison?"

"The lords have returned to their best health. We still don't know who…" Sensing the anger, the guard paused, dropping his head. And then in a miserably low voice, he pleaded, "My Lord, please…"

"You let my Parlour be disgraced, and you let the criminal flee," Serkan said calmly, as if stating a scientific fact.

"My Lord, please…My Lord, show mercy. Please…"

The rest of the sentence was never heard. The man was seized and pulled out of the room, his screams echoing, the fear cracking his voice. Serkan then strolled out, knowing just what he had to do.