You know, I promise there really is a story emerging here. Originally, it was supposed to be short, disconnected stories, but as time has passed (2 years!) I feel a more narrative approach emerging. Nevertheless I've set a huge project for myself with this. I might end up writing sagas of a sort – one long set of stories, and then another. As such I've decided to modify the title and the summary.

By the early afternoon, the travelling party from Cair Paravel had forded the River Rush and made their way down its banks until turning west. All were on foot to make their pilgrimage, in the tradition of the fauns and the dryads. (1)

"You know," Edmund was saying, as he strode in step with Peter at the head of the party. "King Lune's visit made me think – the world might be a good deal bigger than we first realized. Do you think we should build a ship?"

"A ship?" Peter repeated.

"Yes, a – a galley, or something. For travelling, maybe exploring."

"I think a galley uses rowers, Ed. But something that runs on sail power, now." Peter breathed the sweet summer air deeply. "But we're not explorers, Edmund, we're rulers. I don't see how we'll find time to go searching for new places when we have so much right here." Though the thought was not without appeal. "Maybe one day, who knows –"

"I know," said Edmund. "But even as rulers a ship might not be such a bad idea-"

"A ship?" interrupted Lucy, as she and Susan skipped up to join their brothers.

"What's this?" asked Susan.

"Edmund thinks we ought to build ourselves a ship," Peter explained.

"I think it's a splendid idea," Lucy said, immediately.

"It's not a bad idea, you know," Susan began. "We should pay a visit to the Lone Islands soon, since they are Crown possessions, after all."

"And our closest link to the coast of Calormene, whom we also need to learn more of," agreed Edmund. Peter had gone quiet. A cheeky smile tickled the corner the younger king's mouth. "But I think the High King is not ready to think of ships right now."

Peter grinned. "Not at all, actually. I was thinking about a navy."

The children laughed, but their laughter faded quickly as they came around the corner of a rocky outcropping and saw the hill that rose before them The trees thinned out as stone steps began in the green hillside, moving up towards ruined pillars, and in the center, the Stone Table, with its great crack down the middle. Lucy and Susan inhaled sharply, almost at the same time. They had not been here since –

"This is it, then." Peter said, somberly, and without another word he drew his sword and set it, point down, into the grass. He sank to one knee, bowing his head, and beside him his brother and sister, and their whole party followed suit.

As he fell to his knees beside his brother, Edmund bowed his head and closed his eyes, feeling his hair drift over his forehead. The girls had never said much about the evil that had been done here, preferring to spend their words on the far greater good that caused the great slab to crack, and Aslan to return to them, whole and unharmed. But Edmund knew. This was where it had been carried out – where Aslan had been bound and shaved, abused and executed. Aslan had taken the punishment that should have been Edmund's and the thought still shook him to the core with equal parts shame and gratitude. Tears spilled from the corners of his eyes, and though his head was bent Peter must have noticed because he placed an arm around Edmund's shoulders and held the smaller boy close. On his other side, Lucy leaned her head on his shoulder and Susan reached behind Lucy to grab Edmund's hand, and for a moment all four were one, kneeling below the stone table. Feeling them all around, and his heart warm and full of understanding, Edmund wept.

After a time, Peter got to his feet and signaled the group to move on. For a while they progressed in silence, each locked in their own thoughts, but as the afternoon wore on into the evening, and they grew closer to the Dancing Lawn and the merriment there, spirits once again grew lively and the conversations began once more.

When they arrived at the Dancing Lawn daylight had faded, the sun already sunk well below the horizon leaving only a pale yellow line bleeding upwards into an inky sky spotted with hundreds of twinkling stars. The fauns, dryads, and beasts gathered had already thrown themselves into dancing, though midsummer was tomorrow. Lucy and their fan escort, seeming to forget their long day on the road. Edmund, Susan, and Peter were not so inexhaustible.

Peter dutifully sat outside the dancing ring, fighting to keep his eyes open. Susan, feeling the music beginning to grate on her tired senses, got up and walked away from the noise of the party into the cool peace of the surrounding wood. Turning her head upwards, she gazed at the host of stars in the sky above. They seemed to be dancing too, she thought, but more gently, like they were moving to a lullaby only they knew rather than the festive flute behind her. She didn't notice Edmund when he emerged from the trees.

"They're very different here, aren't they?" he said softly.

Susan started. "Oh, Ed. I thought you'd turned in."

Edmund shrugged. "Call of nature."

"Oh," Susan pursed his lips, but Edmund ignored her disapproval of his confession.

"It is a bit loud over there, after the day we've had," he said. "At least, I found it so."

"It's nice," said Susan. "But I am a bit tired."

"It's fine to be out here keeping company with the stars," said Edmund. "Lucy says they can see us too, here in Narnia. Not like home."

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," Susan smiled.

"Poor old Su," Edmund chuckled. "Narnia must have been a shock to your logical mind."

"A surprise, maybe," Susan confessed. "But a nice surprise."

"For me too."

Just then, something cracked in the darkness of the trees. Edmund's eyes went wide and Susan stilled.

"Hullo," she said, uncertainly. It was likely one of the revellers, Susan thought, calming herself. Still, the noise had not come from the lawn, from where the music and the soft red light of the fire were drifting. She peered into the darkness but saw nothing.

"Show yourself, friend," Edmund said, but he sounded uncertain, his boyish voice wavering slightly.

A swish, and a thud. An arrow buried itself in an oak tree behind Edmund. From the dancing lawn came a sharp cry – a dryad yelping in pain. "Get down," Susan yelled, but Edmund was already on his stomach in the shrubs on the forest floor. Susan dropped, lifting herself on her elbows, and shouted. "Peter!"

She could hear the commotion from the dancing lawn, and someone crashing through the bushes towards them. A soft twang came from the other direction, and Susan screamed as she heard a strange ripping noise and felt a stinging pain tear across her shoulder blade. "Susan!" the dry tenor was Peter's, and he was close.

The wound stung, but after a moment Susan realized she was able to breathe and the pain, while very present, was manageable. She struggled to her feet.

"Paddenpaw, find the archer, and you other, follow," her brother was ordering a bobcat, who leapt silently into the dark. "Susan, are you alright? Edmund?"

"I'm fine, Peter," came Edmund's light answer. "I think he hit Su."

"Just grazed," Susan said, through gritted teeth. She felt tears coming and bit them back."

"Let me see," said Lucy, coming up behind Peter. She felt her sister's small hands on her back and reminded herself that Lucy knew something about this. Her little sister had seen worse on the battlefield weeks ago. "It looks nasty, Susan, but I don't think its dangerous. I'll get Worrell, he's a healer."

"You may need stitches," Peter was helping her up, gently so as not to disturb her injured back further.

"Thanks," said Susan.

"I'm glad the arrow got no closer," Peter said, angrily. "Edmund, Lucy, can you take Susan to Worrell? I'm going to find the others."

The youngest two nodded, Edmund taking Peter's place beside Susan. Normally he would ask to go with Peter, but Susan might faint, and Lucy would not be enough to catch her. As it happened, though, the sounds of the return party that had gone after the attempted assassin returned before Peter had gone ten feet.

"Oh, well never mind then," Peter said. "Lucy, would you fetch Worrell here?"

"-Oi, you, stop your squirming or we'll stick you like a kebab." That would be Timshin, a crusty, middle-aged satyr. The response came out in complaining grunts – it sounded to Peter as though their prisoner was gagged.

"Filthy tray-tor," muttered a She-Badger with a thick accent that told of her lifetime in the Southwestern mountains. "Your kin' ort to 'ave been ex-ter-min-ated with the Witch."

"That's right, Chanterelle," joined in an eager young voice. One of the fauns, maybe. Peter turned out to be right as the part emerged as the young faun – a guard from the palace – continued, turning to their prisoner "The High King will have your insides on your outsides."

"And if 'e doesn't, we will," Chanterelle growled, sternly, as the captive was thrown at Peter's feet. The young minotaur might have been fearsome were he standing freely, though he was several feet shorter than fully grown and as of yet bore no horns. The search party had not had the use of rope, so his hands were bound behind his back in a home-knitted scarf donated by one member and gagged with a felt cap Peter thought he might have seen a satyr wearing back at the Dancing Lawn. Nevertheless, black eyes that rose to meet the High King's blue ones smouldered with defiance.

Timchin came forward, and dropped a bow and quiver before the kings and queens. "Paddenpaw says this was the only one he smelled. It was no trouble at all to catch this one – he's not very clever." The Narnian kicked at the minotaur, who bared his large teeth around the makeshift gag and snorted.

"We took that bow right off 'im," Chanterelle added. "'E's guil'y as the Witch 'e'self, an' if you don't know it by the sight of 'im, then mark my words -"

"Thank you, good cousins," Peter said, holding up a hand. He glared down at the young minotaur. He had a strange urge to laugh at the scene before him, but as his eyes studied the prisoner he remembered Susan's cry of pain as the arrow had grazed her slender back. "Remove the gag. I wish to speak to him."

Chanterelle bustled forward and ripped the hat from between the minotaur's teeth. Crabbo, a satyr, collected it from her, brushing it off and popping it back on his head, where it flopped across his hairy brow like a soggy pancake. Peter heard Lucy make a choking noise as she stuffed her fist into her mouth. She, too, knew this was no time to laugh.

"Speak your name, minotaur." No questions from the High King, only a command, met with silence. Perhaps an insult would loosen his tongue. "Speak, calf."

"Brutalus," the minotaur spat. His voice growled but was still quite tenor and childish. "My name is Brutalus, son of Brulathor, and I am no calf."

"Son of Brulathor, what wrong has the Queen of Narnia committed against you that you have shot at her, and injured her?"

"I haven't shot at any real Queen of Narnia," Brutalus replied, stubbornly. "And you, Adam's son, keep my father's name off your murdering tongue."

Lucy gasped, shooting forward. 'How dare you! Queen Susan is a real queen of Narnia, appointed by Aslan, and this Son of Adam is your king! It may be that you fought for the Witch but one day you're sure to realize how the fact that she's gone is nothing but a blessing to Narnia and to you as a Narnian."

"Queen Lucy," Edmund said, putting a hand on her arm. "He may be young but I think Brutalus here knows that he has committed an act of treason, and the time for mercy for such an offense is long past." Edmund was much shorter and smaller than the bull-headed youngling, but as the younger King regarded him with burning brown eyes he saw a spark of fear in the captive's eyes. They were probably of a similar age, Edmund and Brutalus, and there was no pity in Edmund's voice as he spoke.

Peter regarded the minotaur severely, stepping closer and standing over him as he lay on the ground. "I share my brother's mind," he said, "that I should have one of my good cousins fetch my sword from the baggage and put you to death here and now."

"Go on," said Brutalus, nervously. "Kill me, like you and your treacherous hordes killed my father and uncle and brothers at Beruna. But I am no traitor, not to my people or to my Queen."

"Peter," Susan spoke softly. Her wound had been bound by Worrell while they spoke, but her voice still sounded pained. "He is quite young."

"Lucy is younger," muttered Edmund. "He tried to kill you, Susan."

"Yes, but he did say his whole family had been killed, Ed," Susan insisted. "I feel rather sorry for him. Was it your whole family, Brutalus? "

Brutalus looked as though he'd been slapped as he looked up in shock. "Y-yes," he stumbled. "My - my mother died within in the year of my birth."

"Though I will not support their cause, I am sorry you lost them." She locked eyes with the minotaur for a moment, then for the first time he bowed his head. "You must miss them very much."

The hard anger in Edmund's chest softened, just a little. While he carried nothing but disdain for Brutalus, it had not been so long ago he himself had faced a sharp reminder of just how awful it could be to feel truly alone, surrounded by only your enemies.

"Lady, your words make me wish it had not been you my arrow struck." He shot a black glare at Edmund as he said this, and the King hardened his expression once more.

Peter had been silent a while and had been considering hard as his sister and brother spoke to the young minotaur. Now he spoke, slowly and carefully, as if choosing each word. "It does not seem right that Narnia would sentence to death a creature who had not yet reached the full measure of adulthood," he began. "But as to how further to deal with this matter I must ask my brother and sisters to move with me to somewhere we can discuss this among ourselves. And Mr. Tumnus, if you would join us. Your advice would be welcome at this time. The rest of you, guard this prisoner until our return, but do not harm him."

"What are you thinking, Peter?" Edmund asked immediately, as soon as they were across the Dancing Lawn and before they had even come to a full stop.

"I'm not completely sure, really," Peter answered, running a hand through his blonde hair. "That's why I called all of you away. No matter what he's done, we can't execute this minotaur at his age."

"Why not, exactly?" Edmund retorted, hotly. "He'd glad behead any of us – at least you or I, Peter."

"He's only a child, Edmund," Susan said.

'And?" Edmund seemed determined. "That bull-headed ass over there shot at Susan, and hurt her, and might easily have killed either of us, or you two, for that matter, if you'd been there. "

"Yes, but -" Lucy chimed in, struggling to explain an idea larger than herself. "You're a king, and he's not."

"Exactly," Peter agreed. "Aslan's appointed us to roles perhaps greater than our age, and I suppose in those roles we aren't really children."

"If I may, majesties?" Tumnus began, holding up a hand. "I'm no great advisor, and not particularly schooled on the finer points of Narnian law, but I would uphold the High King's instinct in saying that Narnia never was a place that saw much to the execution of children, whatever their crime."

Edmund sighed. "I don't particularly want to see him dead executed, you know. But there are more like him out there, you know. Older too, and perhaps more malicious. I've seen them, possibly more closely than any of you, and I don't think beginning these dealings with a soft hand is wise, or fair."

"What about prison?" Lucy offered. She seemed a bit uncertain, as if she didn't entirely approve of the idea. She was trying though, to be a good queen, and good queens have to think about what is best more than what they want.

Susan sighed. "There are cells at the Cair. I was hoping we wouldn't have to use them so soon."

"This isn't ideal for anyone, Su," replied Edmund.

"We'll have a trial," Peter said, to all of them together. "And Edmund, Aslan named you the Just, so you'll preside. Collect evidence and do what you must to ensure the proceedings follow both correct justice and Narnian tradition."

Edmund looked uncertain. "Peter, do you really think I'm the best candi-"

"-I do," Peter interrupted. "In fact, I am thinking you should be properly invested – some sort of Consul-type role – Lord High Justice or something of that ilk. Who knows how often we might need something of that sort. And you could appoint other judges if needed, and -"

"Peter."

"Yes?"

"Don't you think that might be a bit of a problem?" Edmund's brow was knotted, and strangely enough it was the faun who shared his expression of concern. Edmund noticed it. "Mr. Tumnus seems to recognize the issue. After what I did -"

"That is well behind us all," said Peter firmly. "We all know that, and more importantly Aslan has said and made you king. So I refuse to hear any more of this. I believe you're the best of all of us for this role and that Narnia will see that."

"I agree with Peter, Ed," Susan said softly. For Susan to agree so mildly with Peter, Edmund knew she must mean what she said.

"I think it's perfect," Lucy added.

"I'd like to be the one to invest you properly if I can. I'll have to consult with the centaur Dellwynd - if anyone knows, he'd know. And visit the library." Peter's face fell a little at the thought of the library and the formidable Finris with his monotone lectures, but he steeled himself. "Or perhaps we'll write one -"

"Very well," said Edmund. "But we'll have to do something with him while we prepare. We'll have to get him back to the Cair somehow."

"And we weren't planning on going back until the day after tomorrow, remember?" Lucy said.

"Lucy," Peter turned to her, blue eyes meeting blue. "How would you feel about representing the four of us at the Midsummer Dance? It would have been good to have the four of us here together but I don't think circumstances will allow for it this year."

Lucy was shocked. "Is everyone leaving?"

"Well, I don't think it would be fair to ask any of the fauns. This is their first Midsummer in a hundred years, after all. Edmund and I will have to serve as the prisoner's guard on the way back to the Cair," Peter said. "I am sorry, Lu."

"And I suppose you'll take Susan with you since she's hurt now," Lucy said, sadly.

"Actually, I think I'll stay with Lucy and Mister Tumnus," said Susan. "But I shan't be able to dance much, so Lucy will have to do all that for all of us."

"As much as we'd all love to stay and dance -" Edmund said, and Lucy gave him a shove. He caught Peter's eye and grinned, and Peter hid his smile. This was working out quite well for them.

"And it will work out perfectly, actually," said Peter. "Because we can send horses for the both of you so Susan doesn't have to walk all the way back home. Mister Tumnus, would you go tell the other of our plan? And fetch Worrell – I think Queen Susan still needs stitches."

As the faun left, Lucy sighed. "Funny that, isn't it, Peter. You said home, and meant Cair Paravel."

Peter shrugged. "Because that's what it is."

(1) In Prince Caspian the fastest way from Cair Paravel to the southern mainland is by fording the River Rush. Looking at a map, I would have thought you'd have to find a way to cross the Great River south first, but never mind. Canon is canon.

How am I doing so far? Trying to sort of capture how the four children might have become the legendary figures they are at the end of their reign. Don't know if it's working, but it's keeping my mind off my cold, so that is something.

Please leave a review, if you can (don't blame you if not, though – I always get too anxious to do it myself). I'm not sure what anyone is thinking of this – is there some way I can work on my writing style? Is it easy to follow? If you're willing, I'd like to hear from you.