I forgot to put the prompt on yesterday's... it was Prompt #11: Who am I? Describe a character in exactly 100 words, without naming them.

I'm trying to catch up... I feel both of the timelines are suddenly attacking me with RIGHT PLOT TIME and I don't know which to go with any given chapter... But I'll keep going with the England thread, then back to Narnia next chapter.

Prompt #12: Eustace got turned into a dragon. If one of the other Friends were turned into a mythical creature, what would it be, and what would he or she learn?

"That was an outburst worthy of Peter," said Susan, without accusation, the moment they were alone.

Edmund took a moment to respond, weighing his words as he had not before. The outburst had been burning in his throat, to a greater or lesser extent, for years, and he had never intended to let slip to Susan how much he secretly chafed at times. "I am sorry," he said at last, soberly and managing to avoid it sounding whining. "I should never have spoken so. It was unpardonable of me."

"On the contrary, I shall pardon you," she said, with an edge of mockery to her voice that he rarely heard from her. She was more upset than she cared to admit, then. "You cannot call something unpardonable. Why, of all who might use such strong words, I should hardly expect it of you."

He knew her implication, but bore the sting without comment. After all, he deserved it, deserved anything she cared to throw at him.

"I cannot say," added Edmund, in a slow, considering manner, "that I did not mean my words. I am sorry: I meant every one of them. But I never meant to say them."

"I know," said Susan, and stood irresolutely for a moment, as if unsure how to resolve the conflict between them. "And for my part, I am sorry that I have—babied you so. It was—to borrow a most excellent word from you—unpardonable of me to assume that you would still accept my mothering at the age you are. I can be your sister, but mother—I ought to have grown out of that by now."

"And yet when we were in Narnia," he said, with more quickness than before, "I did not object to the way you treat me, not usually."

"We were kings and queens then." This was delivered with more than a shade of wistfulness, and he looked sharply at her; Susan was deep in thought, and looked almost heartbroken as she said the words. "Now we're just commoners again. If—if we met a king or queen, we'd have to curtsey to them, though by right it truly shouldn't be either way. We should be treated as equals. And we're not even commoners in a warm, equal society like Narnia. We're here." All of her contempt for the English way of ruling was revealed in the last word.

"We're here, so we've got to make the best of it, Su," said Edmund pragmatically. "And Aslan didn't send us back to doom us to an unliveable world. We're the lucky ones, really, being given the chance to be in Narnia at all. I'm—I am terribly sorry about what I said. I can't take it back, but I can apologise, and we can pull together again like usual, Su?" He held out a hand, expecting her to take it immediately.

Susan looked at it, expression conflicted, then slowly shook her head. "I—not right now, Ed. Give me a bit of time. Ask me in a week."

His hand dropped to his side, and he said, trying not to betray his hurt, "But you'll come and discuss Narnia with us at the appointed time, won't you, Su?"

"Of course; I wouldn't miss it for the world."

But if she was not pulling together with her brother— Edmund cut off the thought as it appeared, and said only, "I'm glad. And once again, Su. I'm sorry."

"I love you," she replied, and they parted ways for the present, Edmund feeling mightily unsettled, and guilty, about the whole matter.

"Do you mind if Professor Kirke tells me everything that you tell him, regarding Narnia?" queried Miss Plummer, a mirthful expression that Edmund could not parse crossing her face. "If he doesn't, he might burst, but otherwise we can abide by that stipulation, if you so choose."

Edmund swallowed a laugh, and held his mouth together, in case she thought him to be laughing at her. "I don't mind; you already know a great deal of it, so what's a few more details?" He wanted to ask how and why the Professor had told her in the first place, but politeness restrained him.

"True." She herself laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a manner that suggested she was well used to smiling. He appreciated it, and wondered where the Professor had found such a fine friend. It was probably a story that they would be told sometime. "I would not intrude on your sessions with those who have been to Narnia in beloved recent times, and will want to share in private what you have seen."

Her wording was strange; Edmund marvelled at it, but shelved the thought. "Your generosity is beyond compare, Miss Plummer."

"Your politeness far exceeds anything that is necessary, Edmund," she retorted, quick as a breath. "You don't need to give me such compliments, though you are a king."

"I was a king," said Edmund, quietly. "I do not think that I am any longer."

"Don't say that, Ed," snapped Peter, who had overheard. Edmund winced, regretting allowing Peter to overhear. "Once a king or queen in Narnia, always a king or queen."

"You didn't seem to remember that at times," said Edmund, and snapped his mouth shut, determined to allow nothing more foolish to leave it. Peter was already pale.

"I made mistakes, Ed. Don't cast them up to me now."

"I won't again," said Edmund, and it was a promise. "I'm sorry."

"Thanks," was Peter's reply, in an acrid tone, and he was silent again.

Was Edmund doomed to damage his relationships with all his family now? He wiped at his forehead, noticing suddenly that he felt unaccountably hot. It didn't feel quite like either an intense flush or fever, nor yet heatstroke.

The conversation, which Lucy initiated, flowed around him, as the strange feeling got progressively worse. He was growing very hot by now, his body feeling like it was on fire. His vision was clouding over, as if he looked through a thin layer of flames. Everything was bright and indistinct.

"I have to go," said Edmund, but his words came out garbled and indistinct.

Lucy came hastily over to him and put her hand on his arm, then withdrew it with equal haste. "Why, he's burning up!"

Eustace was right there, an indefinable expression crossing his face. His voice was unsteady as he said, "Get Edmund somewhere private. Quickly!" then grabbed his sleeve and pulled him along with him.

Everything was fading into white-hot fire. Edmund was in wordless agony; he didn't think he could have spoken, even if the others had required it of him. He was burning up, he suspected literally, burning up and shrivelling—

The coolness came with a sudden warm sense of release. Either he was cooler, or he had somehow adjusted to the temperature. His eyes felt different: his body felt different. His legs were small and strange, and his wings were comfortable.

Wait a moment. His wings?

Edmund looked down to see what was going on, and was met by the sight of a pale yellow, feather-covered breast, such as that of a bird. He was glowing, and the feathers were defined by flickering fire.

He was a phoenix.

The others were gathered around; somebody had had the foresight to put him on a table, so that they were at least closer to one another in their heights. Edmund stretched out his wings, the others flinching away. The Professor, Miss Plummer and his parents were not in the room, but the other four were. They seemed to be watching him warily.

All except for Eustace; he was leaning forward slightly, an expression of fascination on his face, as if he saw the flame and was drawn to it. Of course. He had been a dragon, once.

"Can you fly?" asked Eustace, practically. "Can you understand us?"

Edmund nodded, not attempting to speak. He had no idea if he was capable of speech in this form, but didn't care to try at this point. He stretched his wings again, and jumped off the table.

Apparently he was not endowed with the ability to fly ordinarily without practise. He flapped madly, and fell like a stone, landing hard. Eustace reached towards him, and then stopped.

"I can't touch you," he said. "You're far too hot."

"He's literally a phoenix," interjected Susan, with a half-smile.

"I know, but I'd hoped—anyway, Ed, can you get back up on the table? I'm worried you might burn the floor."

Edmund wondered where he was; had they simply taken a house captive, or what?

"Not that I think Miss Plummer would mind too much, given that she volunteered her house," said Susan, unintentionally answering Edmund's unspoken question. "Does she have a fire anywhere, d'you think?"

"Over here," came Lucy's clear soprano, and she returned to Edmund's view carrying two pairs of fire-tongs. "If you sit right still there, Ed—"

Edmund obediently sat still, and his sister carefully balanced him between the two pairs of tongs, poking uncomfortably into him. Still, she managed to get him to the table, though he was tumbled rather ungracefully across it, and had to right himself.

"There, now," said Eustace. "Thanks, cousin. Now Edmund, I had the same problem when I became a dragon, although I learnt pretty quickly."

Edmund squawked, disagreeably.

"You also don't have something like the bracelet, so hopefully that can help. If you stretch out your wings for me," continued Eustace, sounding very much like a teacher talking to a small and ignorant child, "and then try and flap them in a controlled sort of way, that might be a good starting point?"

Edmund dutifully flapped his wings, feeling them touch the surface of the table at every over-exaggerated flap.

"That's excellent," praised Eustace. Edmund squawked again, not happy with the way his cousin was talking to him. "Now if you can just try flapping them harder and faster, see if you can lift off from the table—"

Edmund did so, for approximately 0.001 of a second, before crashing back hard. He was all over bruises, and once he returned to his true shape he was sure he'd have to be in bed for at least one day. He was wondering if it was possible for a phoenix to break something, or if he actually had no bones.

If he had bones, they were not broken, for despite the pain, he was still able to make the gallant attempts at reaching the ceiling. To Edmund's relief, he learnt quickly, and was soon circling around the room as if he had done it all his life. The next question, of course, was what had happened, and why he was currently in this form. And also—how he could get out of it in the end. While in Narnia this might have been annoying but doable, to appear as a phoenix in England was going to ruffle some feathers—to use a particularly appropriate term.

Edmund didn't know what to do. He squawked sadly, landing with a soft hiss on the table again, then thought to try talking. It came out as an indistinguishable squawk like the first.

"Ed, can you try talking?" asked Peter, who had taken over again from Eustace, now that Eustace's particular assistance was no longer necessary.

Edmund tried to say, "I can't," but it turned into a long, whistling note that he was unsure how to stop, and made Lucy and Susan clutch at their ears, for it was high and piercing. It faded into the caw of a crow, and he shut his beak firmly.

"That would be a no, I imagine?" said Peter, smiling sympathetically. Edmund vigorously nodded his head. "A great pity. Do you know what happened, or why?"

Negative.

"Are you in pain?"

Another negative.

"Do you need anything?"

He was not aware of anything he needed urgently.

"I wish I had my cordial," said Lucy regretfully. "Maybe it could've helped Edmund now."

"It didn't help me," Eustace reminded her. "I doubt Edmund would be returned to humanity by it, since I wasn't."

"Whatever shall we do about going back home?" said Susan. "It's easily explained that Edmund didn't return to school, and he comes back regularly on weekends anyway. But we can't turn up with a phoenix and expect them to believe it."

Edmund took flight again, circling above her head until she gestured for him to go somewhere else.

"We can say he was staying with somebody else," said Lucy hopefully. "One of his friends."

Edmund landed with a thump, and nodded decidedly.

"But that only does for the weekend," she finished, looking worried. "Whatever shall we do after that?"

"Figure it out as we come to it. That's all we can do at this point," said Peter, gaze absently fixed on Edmund, a frown on his brow.

The 'what would he learn' bit wasn't really fulfilled, but it shall be in the next England-chapter, I guess.

Please review, tell me what you think of it! Most of the next chapter is written already, in which we're back to Narnia and the betrayal that lies there.