A/N: Hello! I've not got much to say at this stage but I hope you enjoy this story! I'll try to update fairly regularly but I doubt that will last long...! Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or the original characters.

Prologue

It was dark. Night had wrapped itself around the forest in a thick blanket. No starlight and only the barest glimmer of moonlight made it through the branches above. Black shapes flitted through the trees. Owls? Bats? It was too dark to see properly. Twigs snapped underfoot, dry leaves rustled.

The boy staggered under the weight of his friend he was carrying. The old man was getting weaker, his breath more ragged with every step. By now the boy was carrying him far more than the man was supporting himself. They needed to stop. They needed to rest, to find shelter. And soon.

A great shape loomed out of the darkness. The boy registered it as some sort of hut. Shelter. Stumbling under the weight of the old man the boy made for the door swinging gently on its hinges. Inside it was even harder to make out shapes but he spotted what looked like a bed in the corner. As gently as he could, the boy lowered the man onto the bed, gasping as the weight left his shoulders. He reached for a match. There was a scratch and a hiss as it ignited and the boy gazed around at his surroundings. The hut looked as though it had been abandoned. The bed. A table. An empty fire place. Nothing much else. But there – on the shelf. A candle.

The flame caught his finger and he dropped the match automatically. He lit another match, fumbling in his haste, and lit the candle. He brought it over to the bed and crouched by the old man. The flickering flame cast dark shadows on his face. His eyes were closed, his breathing uneven. His skin felt cold and clammy to the touch. There was a ratty, moth eaten blanket on the bed and the boy pulled it over the man. A fire. He needed firewood. There was none in the hut but he quickly gathered some from outside and built up a small fire in the hearth. Turning back to the old man, he uncorked his flask. With a shaking hand he tried to get him to drink. His eyes were open now but he didn't seem to see the boy. The boy clenched his jaw.

"You are not going to die on me," he said, his voice sounding awkward and oddly loud in the quiet. "D'you hear me? I won't let you."

The boy was thinking fast. He needed help. He needed a cure. He stood.

"Don't go anywhere," he both ordered and pleaded. "I'll be back soon."

He knew where he needed to go.

Chapter 1

It was the finest day of the summer since the blossom on the trees had begun to give way to delicate fruits, scattering petals like confetti across the cobbled streets. The sun was high in the clear, blue sky with barely a whisper of cloud insight. Birds arced across the heavens as a few of the braver fledglings of that spring took their first tentative flaps out of their nest, singing out their joy for life.

The weather seemed to have a similar effect on the people of the lower town of the castle of Cair Paravel. It was market day and the ships had just come into port, bringing with them the finest silks and spices of Calormen, intricate tools and jewellery from the isles to the east, fruits and wines from Archenland and an abundance of other luxurious foreign goods. Everyone was cheerful as wares and money changed hands while musicians played gaily in streets, accompaniment to the carefree dancers. There were so many different creatures in the town: talking animals of all manners, dwarves, centaurs, fauns, dryads and naiads to name a few. There were also a fair number of humans as many had moved into Narnia since the tyranny of the White Witch had ended several years previously. To an outsider it would have looked a peculiar scene, but this was business as usual.

Queen Lucy the Valiant of the Glistening Eastern Sea wandered idly through the busy streets enjoying the warm sunshine and happy crowds. She smiled and called greetings as people waved or shouted out to her. They liked the young queen who always seemed to be one of the people, integrating herself into any and every group in a happy and informal manner. That was not to say that the other Kings and Queen that made up the Tetrarch did not mix with the general public, but Lucy, still at the young age of fifteen, seemed to fit in more naturally.

Lucy paused at the edge of a square to watch a group of dancers skip about to a lively tune played by a fiddler in one corner. Absentmindedly, she felt her belt where she always carried the gifts Father Christmas had given her that first Christmas in Narnia: the healing cordial in its diamond flask and her dagger. She rarely went anywhere without them, not so much because she needed them, but as they were precious to her.

A young faun who had been dancing beckoned her to join but she politely refused, content just to watch the merrymakers. She waited until the dance had ended before turning away.

Just then, a figure came crashing into her, grabbing her by the shoulders. She stared, utterly startled, into a frantic face partially hidden beneath a hood. Dark eyes searched hers as he said something but, in her surprise, she only caught the last, desperate word, "Please?"

Too stunned to speak, Lucy stared back at the boy, not sure whether to reach for her knife or not. The boy's hands squeezed her shoulders hard as though he was trying to convey the importance of his plea, whatever it was.

"What do –" Lucy began to ask but was interrupted by a shout. People had noticed her apparent attacker and a guard - a tall, dark centaur - was heading their way.

The boy, who glanced over his shoulder at the cry, saw the guard and muttered a curse under his breath. Others were coming to intervene now. Turning back to Lucy, the boy suddenly made a grab at her belt and then shoved her away.

As fast as lightning, Lucy's dagger was in her hand, ready to fight. But the boy had gone, taking with him… Lucy's face was a picture of horror as she realised. Her healing cordial…

She leapt to her feet, meaning to go after the boy – he couldn't have gone far yet, she could easily –

But suddenly she was surrounded by people. A sea of anxious faces. The centaur stood directly in front of her, blocking her path; a Naiad was tugging at her arm, trying to lead her away.

Lucy craned her neck, trying to see where the thief had gone, but he had disappeared, almost as quickly as he had come. He, and her gift, were gone.