Disclaimer: I've ridden a horse only two or three times (falling off once because the saddle was loose), missed more often than I hit the extremely large cardboard box about ten feet away from me that I was using as a target the one time I shot a bow, and I've never been threatened with bodily harm by anyone other than siblings or coworkers, and the coworkers, at least, didn't really mean it, and my siblings grew out of meaning it. Thus, all this comes from my imagination, and that can't really be owned, because everything there was built on other peoples' work.

Beta'd by trustingHim17, and grateful I am for it, indeed. You should be too, especially if you're either OCD or like good grammar.

WARNING: THE RATING ON THIS STORY HAS CHANGED. The villain was more unpleasant than I thought he would be (I really don't like him, which is unfortunate, because he's in a lot of the story), and the rating has gone up. Please be aware.

OOOOO

The two oldest rulers left at sunrise the next morning, Susan setting straight the few questions she was asked by the servants as Peter saddled their horses. After tightening his sister's saddle himself he moved back to his own horse, a black destrier laden with saddlebags, packed with both breakfast and lunch. Susan descended the castle steps, walking towards her own brown mare. Before Peter could join her to assist her to mount, a Faun sentry stepped forward to help , blushing when the Gentle Queen thanked him graciously.

"All give way before you, my sister," Peter teased with a smile once they were out of the gate (and out of hearing).

"Not all, good consort, not all," Susan said wearily. "It was but yesterday the wretched Uvayeth ceased inquiring about our sister's whereabouts. I like not to lie, and the polite explanations of her busyness would have ceased at his next questioning, leaving nothing but unmannerly responses behind! For I would have told him flat our sister took steps to avoid the company of our guests."

"It is my thought that Ikelken took him to task on his rudeness at last," Peter responded. "Truly, though, 'twere a pity he ceased ere he asked of Edmund once more. Or better yet, of Oreius," he added, seeking to make Susan laugh, and laugh she did, her hands relaxing on the reins.

"Their company lays like a heavy penance on my spirits. Glad am I that Aslan did not let me walk into my former folly! For then the weight would be mine as long as breath lasted, in the company of such as these for my life long." She sighed again. "But I would my brothers need not pay penance with me, nor lose the company of my sister in this mess that stalks our escape."

Peter paused, drawing himself straighter on his horse, falling up and down with its slow stride. He had thought they'd laid such thoughts to rest.

"Cease, my brother," Susan added quickly, reading his body language. "I know we spoke of this. Truly, I work to remind myself the doings of the Calormenes are not the will of my hands nor solely the result of my folly. But…"

"But the weight of your spirits brings the thoughts more often to your mind," Peter finished for her. He had struggled on long campaigns and knew how weariness brought doubt quickly to mind.

"But for now I set it aside," Susan responded lightly, a determined smile on her lips. "All of Narnia lies before us; where shall we go, my brother?"

"Would you have the company of the Beavers, and be mothered and fussed over, or the thunder of the Great Falls, or the rhythm of the sea's waves, or the quiet of the tranquil forest? We ride at your command, fair Queen." Truly, Peter did not care much where they went (though the Beavers were not his first choice this particular day, as he'd rather the quiet), for the company of any of his siblings and no others was a break in any setting. And all the places he listed were close to Cair Paravel or in the safety of friends, and Oreius' scouts would no doubt pass by them often.

"The forest then, if it please you, for my heart yearns for the stillness of its drowsy woods." Peter bowed, and let his horse fall in step besides Susan's, turning at the first road towards the forest.

They spoke softly and often in jest on the way, Peter taking care to remind Susan of good memories in the past and good times yet to come as they passed dear landmarks. Edmund had said, near the beginning of the week, that she had feared to lose everything she had loved, and again the Just had spoken truth, for the more she saw of the places she loved, the more light lifted the shadows on her face and made it happier. They halted in a clearing beside the road for breakfast, Peter helping his sister dismount, but turning the instant her feet were on Narnia's ground.

"What is it, my brother?"

"My ears thought they heard a sound in my saddlebags, fair sister," he said calmly, though his hand fell to his sword. Susan had brought a bow as well, unstrung and slung over her saddle behind her, but he had not thought they would see much use. He circled his horse, yanked on the string to the saddlebag and threw it open—and found only food. He did the same to the bag on top, but again there was nothing but food. "Perhaps I heard something else. Either way, my sister, would you find the spot that pleases you best for breakfast?" He drew out cheese, apples, a knife, and balanced them on one arm, looking back in and sighing.

"What is it?" Susan called from the sunlit spot she had found just outside the trees.

"Our good cousins packed us a feast for breakfast, and I fear we shall not be able to eat it all," Peter called back.

Susan laughed, and Peter reveled in the merry sound. He withdrew the rest of the food—well, as much as a he could carry, carefully balancing the cold meat, bagged berries, apricots, bread, and other foods on his arms and in his fingers—and whirled, dropping them all when he heard Susan cry out.

A band of men—eight within sight, Peter counted without thinking, his sword already drawn—stood in the trees, clothed in plain, travel-crumpled clothing, armed with unsheathed swords, two drawn bows, and daggers at their waists.

Two were gripping Susan's arms, having pulled her to her feet, and a third had an unsheathed dagger held at her throat.

"What would you have of the Sovereigns of Narnia?" Peter inquired grimly, eyes fixed on the one holding the dagger. If the men were robbers, the siblings' saddlebags were embroidered with the image of their crowns, and Peter thought it unlikely that these men did not know who they were.

"Well, now then, it's right off to business with you, is it? I like that, I'm a business man myself," said the man holding the dagger. He had brown hair and no beard, and Peter would have thought him a merchant who sailed and worked on the ships, were it not for his glittering, ice-cold eyes and matching grin. "Now, now, I wouldn't do that," he cautioned as Peter stepped forward, and one of the archers loosed an arrow that hit near Peter's feet. "See, I make a business of getting people what they want, and recently, I found a very wealthy customer who said he wanted you. 'Well, that's a challenge aimed sideways,' I said to myself. 'Make a born fighter into something I travel with, night and day? Now how would I go about doing that,' I wondered. And then I thought of it!" His maniac grin grew wider, and Peter glanced behind the man. The two archers hadn't taken their eyes off the High King, and Peter knew he stood no chance of getting Susan safely away from them without taking too many arrows to keep back eight men. He had no choice—for the moment, he told himself, only for the moment—but to listen.

"You have your archers and the arrows pointed at me. You have made no mention of your buyer requesting the Queen," Peter pointed out, eyes going back to the glittering grey-blue ones behind his sister's head. "Let her go."

"Not yet, not yet! See, she's the whole point of my plan. Narnia, I've heard, it prides itself on following this one Being's rules, and some of those rules, well, they're all about keeping one's word, aren't they? Especially knights," he said, his voice going softer, colder, and his eyes still fixed on Peter. One hand held the back of Susan's neck, Peter could see the fingertips, and the other held the dagger to her throat, but as long as she didn't move, he payed her no attention. "And of those knights, kings must hold themselves to their word even more, wouldn't they? So I'm going to do something no other business man would think of doing. I'm going to do something they'd consider crazy!" His voice grew louder again, and for the first time his eyes left Peter and went to the woman he was holding by the throat. "If you give that kingly, knightly word, that you'll come with us and offer no trouble, and that under no circumstances will you try to escape, why then she lives, we live, and everybody gets to live. Say no," and he pushed his dagger harder into Susan's throat and drew it down an inch, and Peter's own throat tightened as red formed on hers, "and we kill her, you kill some of us—but not me, don't worry about that, I'm far too much a good hand with a sword for that—and we take you anyway, with arrows riddling your body, a sword thrust in your side, and," Susan made a choking sound as he tightened his grip, "your sister's body at your feet."

"No," Susan said, her voice cutting off as the man behind her did something Peter couldn't see.

"You speak of the Being who laid down His rules for us. Do you truly not fear Him?" Peter asked quietly. He would take this man's bargain if he had to, for he knew he could not reach his sister in time, but he would try this first. "You hold at dagger one of those He appointed Queen. You do not fear my sword, and have little reason to, if your words be not boasting. But do you not fear His anger?"

The man shrugged. "Well, now, I grew up being taught those rules, but I never saw them bring much good to those who followed them. And if the Lion isn't strong enough to bring good to folks, I don't think He's strong enough to bring hurt, either. This business of mine has gone very well, and," he said, grinning, "it's never been according to just His rules. I'm flexible like that, see? Take this meeting here. It wasn't what I planned! I'd heard of the magnificent Kings of Narnia, war-like and dangerous, but put one in Tashbaan with his sister, and see what happens? Why, he flees! Flexible, just like meself. But his sister, now, that was his weakness, and chances were it would be yours too. So I meant to get myself the littlest one, brought up by the three of you since a child, I'd heard, and probably a little spoiled, sheltered, afraid, maybe even mouse-like, they said,"

Peter's lips twitched in spite of the situation. Lucy was indeed very Mouse-like at times, like the chieftains of those warriors, but he doubted it was what the man had meant.

"And I'd heard it was easy to get her alone. But then overnight, just after I meet with my buyer, she disappears! Well, I said to myself, one Queen is as good as another, and here your Majesties are, just waiting for me and my band to give you a good welcome. Now," he said, and his eyes were fixed on Peter again, his smile suddenly gone, "will you give your sworn word? Or will my dagger taste the blood of a Queen?"

Peter looked back at Susan. Her eyes were wide with fear, pleading with him. Peter could not, at this moment, give her back all she once feared to lose, but he could give her most of it. "I pledge, as the High King of Narnia and as a knight sworn to Aslan, that after my sister be freed and let go her way without harm, I will surrender myself to you, and give no further resistance to your will by fist, boot, or sword, nor try to escape your bonds." The man smiled once more and withdrew his dagger as he shoved Susan forward. She staggered, Peter running forward to catch her with one hand, and she looked up at him.

"No." she said, tears glistening in her eyes. "I will not leave."

"Susan-"

"No!" She swallowed, eyes flicking around the clearing, looking for an escape. Peter did not miss that the nocked arrows were pointed at his sister now. "Enough is laid at my door. I will not let this be too; never, never will I let your life be given for mine!"

"Susan." Caught, Susan looked back at him; her older brother, her leader, her family. "As your High King, I command this," he said quietly, holding her gaze. "And the authority given to me by Aslan compels you to obey. Go." She bit her lip, and he leaned forward, wrapping the arm without his sword around her. "Get Edmund," he breathed into her ear. "A fair day and little chance of rain. The Hounds," he finished quickly, setting her upright again. He turned to the band that had stepped forward, out of the trees—nine in all, he had missed one in the shadows before. "By your leave, may I help my sister mount?" he asked of the "business man," who nodded. The group started muttering and shifting, and the leader held up his hand.

"Now, now, we've the King's sworn word! And if he breaks it," the man said, smiling widely again, "well, then, his sister pays the price, doesn't she? And I don't think he wants that. No, I don't think he wants that at all. Come, don't you know your manners? Let's follow the rulers, creating their train!" he declared, still with that manic grin as he moved forward. Peter ignored them, drawing Susan's trembling arm through his own. His first concern was for her, and he silently begged Aslan to let her get away safely. He led her to her mare, laying his other hand on the arm wound through his.

"Peter, please," she begged under her breath, but he shook his head.

"My word is already given," he reminded her, and she bit her lip, tears beginning to fall. She blinked them away and stood straighter, eyes on her horse. Peter looped his hands together, she put her foot in it, and he stayed steady as he took her weight. She kept it there a minute, the band still a few paces behind them, voices restlessly muttering. Peter looked up, just in time to see her fingers finish something on her saddlebag as she swung herself into the saddle. A moment later she was upright, her strung bow in her hand, firing at one of the archers, who fell with a cry. She had another arrow nocked, drawing from a quiver hung on the saddle, and fired at the other archer before any of the rest of the band reached them. Peter's fingers went white around his sword; he had sworn not to fight, he couldn't help her-

And he couldn't resist as arms grabbed him and a dagger was brought to his throat. Not the leader's this time, for the leader was walking towards his sister, unfazed by the arrow pointed directly at his heart.

"Well, I'll be a surprised chick, Your Majesty, perhaps the Queens of Narnia aren't so timid after all! I wonder what else i've been told that's wrong. Now, now, I wouldn't shoot that. You see," he continued conspiratorially, "the rest of my band, they don't like this plan so much."

"Perhaps because it is vile," Susan bit out bitterly.

"Nah, nah, that's not likely. There's plenty of slaves to be had in exchange, and slaves mean gold for us. But them, well," and he gestured at the six men standing behind him, "they don't trust the word of a King. They don't reckon any man would keep his word when it means his life! So I wouldn't shoot me. And I'm right glad you didn't leave, too, because I've something to be said to you and to the ones you're going back to." He turned and walked towards Peter, Susan drawing back the bow further as the man drew near her brother. But Peter met her eyes and shook his head. He did not doubt if the man died his band would attempt to take Susan as well. Peter did not take his eyes off of his sister, trying to give her courage, as the leader stopped in front of him and grabbed one of Peter's clenched hands. The men on either side of Peter—pirates, he would guess, from the smell he'd smelled too many times before, though what pirates were doing this far inland he could not guess—clamped their hands threateningly around his arms. The leader pulled Peter's fingers out of his fist and turned it over, palm up. Peter still refused to look at him, looking only at his sister. But he caught the flash of metal from the corner of his eye, and the pain shooting up from a deep cut in his palm did not surprise him, nor make him look away.

It was harder to stay unmoving when the man reached for his other hand, drawing it up, unclenching it, and doing the same, tears falling down Susan's cheeks as she watched. Peter still shook his head, once, when the dagger was brought to his second palm and she drew back on the bow again.

This was not the time to fight.

A sob broke from her when she released it, but she did not fire, and Peter relaxed. His palms were hot with blood, and he knew it would be much harder to hold any weapon with the cuts.

"There now," the man said, turning back to Susan as he wiped his dagger on his pants. "Now I didn't want to do that, see? But a cut for each man. And next time," he stepped forward, and Peter guessed he was no longer smiling. "Next time it won't be a cut. Next time you or the others come for him, he'll lose something. Each time you come, we'll send a part of him back with you, and that won't be pleasant for anyone, see? So I'll warn you once. Tell the others you'll get him back, our buyer said so, if you do nothing—but come after us, and you'll get pieces of him first." The man bowed, a slight one, and came back up again. "You hear me, Your Majesty?" he asked, his voice soft and cold once again. Susan looked away from Peter to look at the man. Whatever she saw in his face, it closed her own, the fear and pain leaving till all that remained was the Queen Aslan appointed.

"My hearing is better than yours, for I have heard Aslan roar, and that sound will ring in your ears for what you have done," she said, reaching forward for her reins. "I'll not risk my brother and stay to fight, but know this—we will not give him up, nor will we take him in pieces. He is ours, given by Aslan, and we will have him back." She looked back at Peter, a promise on her face. "We will get you back," she said.

"Go," Peter commanded. He knew she would keep that promise, she and the others. "Narnia is freedom-"

"Aslan is safety," she whispered, pain breaking through her mask again—but she spurred her horse forward, going forward at a gallop. Going, Peter knew, to get help.

The leader turned, studying the King. Peter looked back at him fearlessly. Whatever happened was Aslan's will, and Peter would not flinch from it. The leader shook his head.

"Not broken, that's for sure, but bound all the same. Still, I promised my men here a bit more safety than a promise, see?" The man nodded at the rouges behind Peter, and the last thing Peter felt was a hard thunk on the back of his head.

Later he remembered waking, ropes binding his hands behind his back, and probably his feet together, though Peter had a hard time feeling them. He was slung like a hunter's kill over the shoulders of one of the band. His scalp itched—from dried blood, Peter had felt that one too many times—and his side ached from the shoulder digging into it.

He blinked, looking around, only to hear, "Oi! He's awake!" and feeling something hit his head once again.

The next time he woke, he was slower to open his eyes, his head, hands, and side all painful. He could feel something rough bound around his palms, below the ropes, and he kept his head lolling on his shoulder and listened.

A creaking, a familiar one, and a rhythmic sound-

"the rhythm of the sea's waves," he heard himself telling to Susan, just that morning. Sea could be a problem, they couldn't be tracked—he lifted his head up to see how far from shore, only to hear,

"Dagguer! He's waking 'gain!"

He didn't remember being hit that time.

It was dark when he woke. He didn't move; everything hurt far too much to even think of moving. He longed, suddenly, for Lucy's kind hands and Christmas gift. He remembered the smell, and was suddenly retching before he could stop himself, the idea of any smell turning his churning stomach.

"Do we knock him again?" a voice near him asked. "Too many hits to the head can hurt a brain. I've seen it happen."
"Eh, if he's addled in the head, what of it? It'll make our buyer's task all the easier then, won't it?" Dagguer's voice, Peter knew, and kept his eyes closed. He almost welcomed the blow when it fell; oblivion didn't hurt.

OOOOO

A/N: I know in Kidnapped I wrote the story from two perspectives—the hunters and the captive—but just so you're aware, I'm not writing this story that way; it will be Peter's perspective only. I had a kind reader wonder what mischief Lucy would get up to in Archenland (which, I admit, sounds like all kinds of fun, particularly since she was already friends with Aravis and I could see her teasing Aravis about Cor and, when rebuffed, asking what she thought of Corin then, just to see Aravis make a face), and it occurred to me I'd set a precedent of writing from multiple perspectives, and didn't want to disappoint people when that didn't happen here. I'm sorry if you were looking forward to that!

Response to Anonymousme: I grew up in a large family, with parents who also had large families, and my siblings now have large families. When I roomed for over three years at college with an only child, we had a few communication things we had to make clear. :) I'd rather not post my career publicly, if you don't mind; it's varied enough over the years it's pretty specific. Large families aren't, so I don't mind saying, as long as it's not a specific number. What would, in the end, charm Biss? The way he's portrayed reminds me of the "dwarf" (short man) in Lewis' The Great Divorce; someone who refuses to be happy unless every need is met, every fear assuaged, and all attention is given to him. The only way for him to be happy is to give up his selfishness, and what, in the end, could charm that out of him? Have a lovely Tuesday!