Welcome to this year's Adventures in Narnia! I'm aiming to do all the days, and, as was my aim for the last one, form a cohesive story through the prompts.

BrokenKestral, by any chance did you look at that short snippet of your own to make that prompt? :P I recognised it and thought of yours, had a bit of difficulty separating them actually in my head!

This is planned to switch between two different times in the life of the Four and others, but to be two different timelines with interconnected story, if that makes sense.

Prompt #1: Lucy's dagger misses

The one they called King Edmund (some were calling him Just, and it was a moniker that was still strange to his ears) exited the stables at a brisk walk, hands in his pockets and whistling a blithe Narnian air.

The confidence in his demeanour, and the Narnian nature of his tune, seemed the only things changed from the downtrodden schoolboy who now co-ruled Narnia; in all the most important aspects, he was still Edmund, brother to Susan and Lucy and Peter.

Across the field, Lucy was practicing with her dagger. She kept missing the target, throwing in a way that even his nigh-untrained eyes could spot as fumbling and the whole reason for her difficulties. Edmund himself was a very fair swordsman already; a mere handful of lessons back in England, and intensive training since he reached Narnia, had unexpectedly produced excellent results, so that he could hold his own against several of the Narnian troops who had grown up with a sword in their hand. To be sure, it was only the weaker ones, overawed by Edmund's own high position, and afraid to touch him with their swords, but it was victory in his eyes, at least for now.

He changed direction, heading towards Lucy with determined intent to correct her, but another got there first. Glorfin the centaur practically materialised from the ground (quite a difficult feat for one so generally noticeable) and said enthusiastically, "Queen Lucy, may I offer a word of advice?"

Edmund, seeing his purpose amply (and better) filled by another, changed tack once again, wandering aimlessly towards the great gates of Cair Paravel. He was not entirely familiar yet with the surrounding families, and perhaps if he dropped in now somebody would offer him tea and cakes. Edmund was a great believer in the efficacy of tea and cakes in forging a friendship.

The guards saluted him as he passed the gates, his stride stretching into the confident swinging walk of a king. He was still learning it, but some things came more naturally than others.

He did not have to walk far before he was waylaid by an excitable squirrel offering him a nut. He had no particular fondness for nuts, but accepted on common courtesy, and because he really liked Branchnut. To hurt his feelings needlessly seemed unkind; unless he had an actual reason for refusing the proffered gift, he would accept it every time.

As was polite, Edmund looked away while the squirrel was fetching the nut, though both parties knew perfectly well that Edmund would neither steal nor tell others the hiding place. That wasn't the point; the point was tradition, and things being the way they had always been.

Edmund took a while over it (a particularly large and fine hazelnut, probably one of Branchnut's best), making conversation with him in the grave yet easy way he found himself developing, unlike his former awkward self.

He realised, as the conversation ended, that he was already changing; something about the Narnian air, or the people, or the expectations that felt much more like encouragement than burden. Or maybe it was just something about Aslan.

The discovery left him less eager for tea and cakes than before, and he returned to Cair Paravel instead of going further into the woods. It was colder than it had been earlier, oddly enough, and the clouds were gathering darkly.

Edmund sped up to a jog; he had not gone far, but it would be less than ideal if he ended up soaked through; he had no desire to cause more washing than necessary to the already overworked laundry-doers. (He put another item on his already-long mental checklist: find more Beasts whom they could employ to do their laundry.)

He entered the gate before the rain did, but it chased him inside at the same time as Lucy, dagger in its sheath at her side, and a flurry of rain having put sparkling drops in her dishevelled golden hair. She laughed as he ran his hand through his hair to dry it.

"Well met, brother mine."

There was a deep happiness in Lucy's glance that he had never seen (or maybe just never noticed) in England, and it lit up her face wonderfully, and made her seem older than her years, but in the best of ways.

"Well met, royal sister," he acknowledged. Still the words felt strange, but he was using them more, trying to get used to being in Narnia, not in England.

This was his life now; and he would not exchange it for any other.

Then Lucy showed her true age with an intense enthusiasm. "Oh, Edmund, the Beasts, they're all so kind! And the ones who aren't Beasts, too, like the Centaurs. I mean, I don't know if they are Beasts, what do you think?"

Edmund merely smiled as Lucy kept going without pausing for a response, telling him about how kind Glorfin had been, what he had showed her, and how he had helped. This was the Lucy he knew: bubbling over with delight and excitement, not a tear in sight, and full of love for the world around her.

He grew more worried, however, when Lucy added, "I'll show you what Glorfin showed me!" and pulled out her dagger with the evident intention of showing him right then.

"Lucy, I don't think that's wise," he said hastily. "Not right here."

"Oh, but I won't hurt anything!" said Lucy, with a broad smile. "I know how to do this now." She sized up her target, a metal decoration that would not be damaged by the dagger in her hand, and raised it to throw.

At the same moment, Edmund visualised how it would fall, saw the delicate pottery vase within striking distance, and thought of the proud Beavers who had so painstakingly crafted it, and moved.

"Lucy, no," he started, but Lucy either did not hear, or did not perceive, what he was saying, and threw the dagger. It was thrown badly, excited and distracted by the thought of showing him in any case, and went wild. Out of pure instinct, Edmund twisted to avoid the worst of it, but there was a solid thud and a spike of pain in his shoulder, more out of surprise than anything else.

"Edmund!" shrieked Lucy, instantly contrite, and ran to him. Startled by the pain (for it brought back memories of a far greater pain, and a coldness around his ribs that would never quite go away), Edmund made no move to stop her from doing possibly the worst thing she could have done with good intentions: removing the dagger.

Blood immediately began to soak his shirt. He could tell it was merely a light wound, but it was bleeding to an embarrassing degree, and Lucy was looking horrified.

"Lu, it's fine," Edmund assured her, but her shrieks had already brought Susan running.

"Ed, what happened?"

Lucy began to explain, talking too fast for the clearly bewildered Susan to understand, so Edmund took over.

"We had a little accident," he said tersely. "Lucy was practising throwing her dagger and wanted to show me. No, she did not attempt to throw it at me. Yes, I accidentally moved into its path. Yes, she threw badly. No, it will not happen again."

Lucy tried to correct the vast oversimplification, but Edmund raised a hand to finally put pressure on the wound, and she saw that as a rebuke.

"I'm so sorry, Edmund," Lucy babbled repeatedly. "I didn't mean to do anything like that, I promise, I..."

"I know you didn't," he said, cutting her off. "I know you never would, Lu, don't worry. I will be well."

"Does it need a bandage?" said the ever-practical Susan, with impressive calmness. "And don't worry about your shirt; I'll get one of the Naiads to clean it, they're very good with blood-stained laundry."

The flow of blood was already easing. "True. No, it doesn't," said Edmund easily. "It's not severe, only rather frightening to look at." He smiled at Lucy, and she smiled back, obviously repressing the apologies he knew were unnecessary. It had been an accident, and might prevent worse ones in the future. "Worry not. I'll be fine."

In England, Edmund Pevensie probably would have shouted at her, then gone and sulked for a long, long time. He wasn't that boy any more. He was King Edmund, and some called him the Just.

Is Lucy out of character here? Well, she's certainly less measured than she usually is in canon, but then again any Lucy we see after this could have been shaped by an event like this: and in LWW, there was rather more important things going on that might make her very serious then, but more lighthearted and careless later.

Tell me what you think. I reckon she got overexcited sometime. I would love reviews! And, I had a great deal of fun with today's, although it feels not very well written especially at certain points. Might edit it if people have good ideas or something.

I could have been the first to post, but decided not to stay up to finish writing it; I got halfway and went to bed, instead. Now I shall go and read those of the others who have already posted!