Warning: this chapter contains the spanking of a minor. Don't like, don't read. You have been warned and I will not apologize for my word or its content.I don't own Narnia!

/flashback-- 2 months after the Coronation/

Peter swiped his sleeve over his watery eyes as the wind whipped past, his heart thudding to the beat of his horse's hooves. Where is she?

Susan's horn had sounded. Peter knew it had. The first time she had used it, he had been overtaken with nausea so powerful he had barely been able to stay on his feet; however, it had lessened as he had drawn nearer to her. This time, Peter had been in a meeting with his decorum tutor when he had nearly doubled over from the wave of nausea that had flooded his stomach, his head, his senses. He had gasped, "excuse me," stumbled upstairs to fetch his sword, and sprinted out the doors to the stables as fast as he could run.

He had set off in the direction his intuition pointed him. It didn't make much sense to him, but he somehow knew. With grim determination, Peter continued north. He could feel the color coming back to his face; a good sign. He was heading toward Susan.

Probably should have brought a guard, the boy thought regretfully, but it was no matter now, for before he knew it, he had reached the edge of a steep and narrow ravine.

"Help; oh, help me!" Susan.

"Susan, I'm here!" Peter didn't even slow his horse to a stop before leaping off, stumbling forward as he did so, his bare palms smacking the gritty surface as he did so. He grimaced before scrambling to his feet, slapping the dirt off his hands onto the sides of his trousers as he raced toward the sound of Susan's voice.

He reached the edge and gasped. She was pressed as flat against the edge of the cliff as she could manage, her left hand gripping tightly to a thin branch jutting out of the side of the embankment, just above her head. "Peter?!" She cried.

"Grab my hand!" He called, falling to his stomach at once and leaning down as far forward as he could get. Susan was frozen. "Susan, grab my hand now!"

"I can't," she gasped. "I can't, I...I'll...I can't--"

"Yes, you can, yes, you can!" Peter panted. "You must! Don't think about it. Just--just reach up; I'll catch you! You have to do it! Now!" With a shriek of terror, Susan managed to tear a hand off of the branch and reach with all her might up to Peter's outstretched hands. He grabbed her arm as tightly as he could in both hands and wrenched her up and over the edge to higher ground. Gripping her tightly to his chest, he kicked and kicked until he had scrambled away from the edge to safety.

Peter yanked Susan away from him to look at her face. "WHAT in Aslan's name were you..." and then he was abruptly stopped by a flood of tears from Susan that were so purely broken and sad and relieved and hysterical all at the same time, all he could do was hug her tightly. She wept into his shoulder completely undignified, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

"My...Peter...my horse..." and Peter's eyes widened at once in horror. He moved to stand, meaning to look over the edge, but she resisted. "No, no," she sobbed, "don't! Don't look! I can't bear it. Please, don't look."

"Thank Aslan you're alright," and he clutched her tighter.

Peter and Susan had arrived back at the Cair where Lucy had tended to Susan's injuries, both outer and inner, offering her the cordial and then hurrying to the kitchen to fetch her older sister tea and cake. She had wrapped her little arms around Susan's shoulders and refused to leave her side until Peter had insisted upon a word with Susan in her bedchamber.

Susan had sobbed and pleaded with Peter, but he was quiet and stern and completely unrelenting. While she was begging him to allow her to explain, he had pinned her across the edge of the bed, flipped up her skirt, removed his belt fluidly, and applied it rapidly and firmly to her bottom and the backs of her thighs, perhaps a dozen, a dozen and a half times. It wasn't a particularly severe spanking, but Peter made it count all the same. Susan had shrieked and sobbed desperately, crying for him to stop and that it hurt, but she was altogether ignored, held there against Peter's leg tightly until he felt that the message had been received.

Then and only then was she released. She hadn't moved, sobbing as if her heart would break into the bedspread until Peter had lifted her up and into his arms. There they had sat for over an hour. Hardly a word was spoken between them; indeed, hardly a word was needed. Peter hummed and shushed her, rocking her and strumming his fingers through her thick curls. At last, when Susan was sufficiently soothed, Peter left her bedchamber, promising hot supper on a platter for her momentarily.

Susan, though not specifically confined to the castle, did not leave it voluntarily for over a week.

/Present/

Peter sighed and rolled over to bury his face in his pillow. Today could rot.

To be continued!

A/N: Not a very long chapter, I know, but I wanted to give you all something, if not a bit of context! I will try to update soon :) thank you so much for your patience and support! -Cas xx