A/N: Once again, I thank you all for the continued support! I never expected my first fic to be so successful (glows with pride) wow! In this chapter there are two POV's: The first is the Aslanders (Susan, Lucy, Aslan etc) and then we're back to Cifel and Edmund.

Oh yeah…an awful lot of people are getting very confused. This may spoil the story a bit if I explain, but people seem to want to know, so I'll tell you; Peter is not technically 'dreaming'. He's not even really asleep. Any more and that would be too much! I'll explain it during the story, soon. Very soon. For now, I have put together a summary which may help the confusion somewhat:

Edmund: is forgetting everything, due to the witch's magic. His dreams ARE dreams, but reflect the events taking place in reality.

Peter: Is wandering around both time and space. I'll explain how later, but sufficed to say his story is going to get VERY interesting.

Susan and Lucy: Are just stiffening their resolve and trying not to panic, really.

The witch and Cifel: are plotting and generally confusing everyone. Cifel, quite obviously, is not all he seems, but don't worry. He'll be gone soon (evil grin).

Cifel: 00 (worried)

Henry Pevensie: Is about to get a big shock, but otherwise is just sitting in the mud, really.

Helen Pevensie: We'll hear from her later.

Don't worry, it isn't going to get any more complicated. The whole dream thing is about as far as it goes…anything else will be explained by various characters quite clearly, but for now I'm just leaving hints throughout the text. If anyone thinks they've worked something out, let me know! I want to know if I can outsmart you all…(evil grin)

Come on, it wouldn't be fun if I told you everything!

Chapter seven

Lucy tugged on her sister's hand, silently pleading for her to hurry. It was a lovely day, she thought, for once reaping no joy from the fact. The sky was blue, and the frost had almost completely gone, but even though the sun was shining, there was no sunshine. Sunshine was only joyful when you yourself were happy, and Lucy was far from her normal self. She had not slept at all the previous night. Even as she had cuddled up close to her sister's side, and thought of home, and of their mother smiling as she bundled her youngest daughter up for the winter cold, she felt no warmth. Only cold.

Cold and empty.

She shivered despite the warm summer breeze, and let go of her sisters hand to flat out run to Aslan's tent, ignoring the irritable voice of her sister calling for her to wait. She could not wait. She was tired of always having to just sit, and smile, and look happy, and pretend everything was all right.

'Some little kids don't know when to stop pretending.'

Lucy froze just beside the tent flap, as her brother's voice came back to her as if brought as an incentive. But it wasn't just children who pretended. Their mother, for years now, had been pretending. Living a dream. Pretending that father would one day come home, that the bombs would eventually stop falling, that things would go back to the way they had been. They would never change. Lucy could never go back, to home. She could go back to her house, to her mother, but she would never be home again. Their mother would still cry silently over their father's picture when the children were in bed. Edmund would still run down the stairs every morning to stare out of the window, watching down the garden path for the sound of army clad boots.

Lucy knew when to stop pretending. She may not be as old as her mother. She may not be as tall, or as pretty, or as clever as Susan. She may never be. But she knew when to stop pretending. She knew it was time to stop lying, to stop fooling around pretending things were all right. Her father had gone. Her mother had gone. And now, both her brothers had gone, too.

She thought of Mr Tumnus, who accepted her so kindly into a world she knew nothing of. She thought of Peter, always giving in to her, trying so desperately hard to make her life whole again. She thought of Susan, who had shielded her for so many years from the terrible ways of the world; patched her clothes when her mother was too tired to even get up from the old arm chair. Sewn Harry, her teddy bear's ear back on. Brushed her hair, then tied a ribbon into it with a small smile and an exclamation of how sweet she looked.

Lucy didn't want to be a child anymore. She didn't want to keep pretending. She straightened her back, reached up, and tugged the small brightly coloured ribbon out of her hair; she watched as it fell slowly to the ground in a swirling, languid motion then was lifted by the currents of the wind, tossing and turning, streaming away.

It was time.

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Cifel folded his hands neatly in his lap, and leant back against the wall farthest from the large poster bed, thinking. The boy was at peace now; for that at least, he was grateful. But what of the other? Who knew where he had gone, what he had seen? Why did he even care? He should not be so concerned for the humans. Emotion led to attachment. Attachment led to mistakes. And mistakes led to pain, and cost lives. He could not afford to allow his guard to slip, even for a moment.

He raised his gaze upward to glare ferociously at the ceiling, then lowered it hastily as the patch he was looking at began to melt. He let out a long breath with a sigh, his brown hair tossing in the gust, and cocked his head to the side, admiring the new stalactite the room had gained. It was certainly an improvement on the exceedingly boring flat surface that was the original. It could even serve as a coat hook, if it was bent round enough…

The boy turned slightly in his sleep, let out a soft sigh, then fell back into slumber. Cifel rolled his eyes. This was going to be difficult. Very difficult. Well, he supposed, to any other being it might just be impossible. But not to him. He needed to maintain the perfect balance…shield the boy's aura somehow, but subtly, from the witch. But he must be careful. Very, very careful. If she were to ever discover he had the ability to disobey…

"…Peter?"

The boy muttered in his sleep, brow furrowing, and tossed, turning onto his front to bury his head in the pillow. Cifel sighed, and straightened up wearily, then stooped down to retrieve the large, leather bound book from the floor where it had fallen from the previous night. He dusted off the pages, and smiled fondly down at it, running a finger absently along the patterned spine as he did so. It had broken his heart to reconfigure the patterned border, but it needed to be done. Humans may be resilient creatures, but they could be surprisingly dull witted when it came down to deciphering things.

He admired his handiwork, fingering the painted sky blue flowers which wrapped themselves around the edges of the book, and up throughout the heavy pages. It would have to do. If he had played the charm correctly, and with the right pitch, the most prominent factors of the boy's dream should remain intact in his residual long term memory, and hopefully the symbol would penetrate his daily consciousness. If not, however, the reminder was everywhere to stimulate a response. It was incredible the witch hadn't noticed yet, really.

A sudden aroma of musty fur and distant lands assaulted his senses, and Cifel suddenly lashed out and threw the book away with revulsion. In all its beauty, he had almost forgotten its origin. Pathetic. And he had accused the witch of growing weaker, when he himself had somehow succumbed to stupid, pathetic human emotions. He had purged himself of such trivial matters many ages ago. He could not afford to lose face now, when he was so close to bringing an end to it all. To everything.

He walked swiftly away from the fallen book, and stood beside the bed, reaching out and placing a now freezing hand on the boy's warm forehead. He closed his own eyes, and probed gently for the boy's emotional centre.

Whispered voices…a child. Blue. Sudden turbulence…the boy was no longer at peace. He had entered the realm of illusion. Where reality slips away and the human soul remained helplessly at the mercy of the fears the conscious mind repressed.

Cifel shuddered and drew sharply back. At least Edmund had not met the same fate as his brother. Cifel felt a shiver rise up from the base of his spine, and wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. Wherever that boy was, Cifel could do nothing to aid him now. He would have to find the way home by himself. But he was strong. Cifel had felt it when he had first read the boy. A strength born from deep within his heart. Cifel was placing his every hope on that strength, and that it would, eventually, triumph.

Cifel allowed a twisted smile to curl his lips, and he slid to the floor, leaning back against the rosewood bedpost. It would soon, he could feel it. He could smell the dark, intoxicating aura which dictated so.

Yes. It would not be long now. Not long at all.

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Whispers.

Whispering on the sunset lit shores…rays casting dancing red and yellow sparks across the glistening surface. Coarse sand beneath his feet, shells scattered here and there among seaweed and small pebbles covered with foam. Rushing waves, a single child whispering softly.

There was no laughter, nor crying. Barely heard over the sighing of the waves as they rose up over the shoal then whipped down away, as though afraid, a small, whispering voice. Edmund craned his neck and scanned the horizon and the edges of the beach, the upper bank where his mother usually sat. The deckchair stood empty, towels draped neatly over the wooden sides, creaking slightly in the afternoon breeze. Edmund looked down.

A bright red bucket lay at his feet, filled to the brim with slushy brown sand, the edge of a small slip of material just visible on the surface. Edmund frowned, and bent down to his knees, placed thumb and forefinger around the frayed edge of what he could now see was an emerald green colour. He tugged.

A long, still entirely whole ribbon emerged slowly through the thick slush, and Edmund wrinkled his nose at the smell. He studied it carefully, something tickling at the back of his mind. This…ribbon…belonged to someone he knew. Someone…important. He studied the end which had just broken free from the bucket, and found a rather simple jagged embroidery on the underside.

L-U-C-Y--P

Lucy P. Lucy, Lucy, Lucy…why did that name seem so familiar somehow? Oh! Of course, his sister Lucy. How could he have forgotten? Was he going mad? Edmund shook his head violently, as though trying to shake off the misty cloud which had wrapped itself tightly around his memory. What was his sister's ribbon doing here?

Next to the bucket, two spades were laid neatly side by side on the sand. One, which was a bright cheerful yellow, appeared perfectly normal. The second, a larger, dark red one, was split and splintered in the very middle of the shaft, breaking it clean in two. Edmund placed the bucket and shoved the ribbon into his pocket, reaching out to finger the sharp ends of the shaft.

"It broke."

The quiet voice shocked Edmund, whose head snapped up so fast he felt a little dizzy. His heart leapt as he saw the young Peter, standing right beside him, staring also at the broken spade. The boy stood uncharacteristically still, hands clasped in front of him neatly, his face devoid of emotion.

"I broke it. And now I can't fix it. Tell me. Tell me how to fix it."

Edmund stared at him, and reached out a slightly shaking hand to take the little child's shoulder.

"Peter?"

The boy shook his head.

"No. Call me Simon."

Edmund frowned, and leant a little closer.

"But…you are Peter, aren't you?"

The boy said nothing, but turned away and began to scramble up the bank of sand, towards the empty deckchair. Edmund hurried after him, calling for him to slow down, feeling confused. This was not right. Not right at all.

He climbed over the rim of the bank and saw the little boy sitting cross legged on a towel, with scattered tiny figures lying immobile all around. In his hand he held one, and in the other he gripped fiddled with the untied laces on his shoes. Edmund hurried over and sat down carefully beside him on the sand. Peter…or Simon, as he liked to be called…did not look at him, but stared at the small metal figure of a tin soldier in his hand. The other figures were tanks, guns, soldiers, military weapons and so on. Simon wrinkled his nose as he studied the figure, then quite suddenly looked Edmund in the eye and recited:

"Little girls and little boys,

Never suck your German toys;

German soldiers licked will make

Darling Baby's tummy ache.

Parents, you should always try

Only British toys to buy;

Though to pieces they be picked,

British soldiers can be licked."

Then hunched over himself and began to giggle uncontrollably. Edmund stared, and reached out a hand to rest on the boy's trembling shoulder. Simon's head shot up, and he smiled slightly, reaching out his own hand to wave it back and forth in front of Edmund's face, the head of a sky blue flower tossing drunkenly on the end of a thin stalk at the action.

Edmund took it, then tucked it safely into the chest pocket of his shirt, muttering a thanks. The sky had begun to darken. Simon, confused, looked upwards also, and his eyes widened. He jumped to his feet, and before Edmund could move to follow him, he pointed firmly to his chest forget.

"Don't forget to remember...you won't, will you?"

Edmund stared unblinkingly into those eyes he knew so well.

"Are you asking me to remember...or stating that you know that I won't?"

The boy shrugged, glancing nervously around the beach, his clothes and hair now being buffeted to and fro in the wind.

"Only you can answer that question, Edmund."

Before he gave Edmund a sudden hard shove backwards, and smiled shakily as Edmund was wrenched away from the beach into darkness, shards of frosted glass and ice swirling around him, speaking the name that even as it left his lips, the meaning slipped away.

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Edmund awoke, for the second time in a day, in a cold sweat, screaming a name he couldn't quite recall the significance of. He clenched his fists and rubbed furiously at his eyes, struggling desperately to grasp the remnants of the vision he had just left. But it slipped through his fingers like sand through an hourglass even as he reached for it. He let out a frustrated groan, and slammed his fist into the bedposts, ignoring the ominous crunch and the shooting pain rising up his arm.

He was left with a feeling of utter emptiness, and slumped back onto the pillows, staring up at the deep blue ceiling of the bed in despair. It was no use. No matter how he tried, he could never recall anything other than that wretched sky blue flower. He didn't even know what it was called. But there was something else this time…something that slid wearily into place in his mind's eye, and he grimaced slightly as he traced two oval shapes with his forefinger in mid- air.

A small pair of china blue eyes shedding a never ending flow of tears down a face Edmund could not recall, and a far off voice calling over and over again, accusing.

"You forgot, you forgot, you forgot"

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A/N: That's right, folks. Edmund is slowly beginning to forget his family, under the influence of the supposed 'medicine' the witch gave him. To avoid future confusion, I will explain that whenever Edmund dreams of the beach, he is in full control of his memories and can remember quite well his family, and what really happened in Narnia.

He does not, however, remember anything short term (any interaction with Cifel). In reality, when he wakes up, he can barely remember the dreams or the true events, and only remembers what has happened since he was captured (although he doesn't know it) by the witch. Okie dokie?

Next up, Peter gets a shock, Edmund falls deeper under the witch's spell, Cifel plots and generally confuses everybody including the author…

Cifel: (grins evilly)

…the witch comes up with something which vaguely resembles a plan, and I show how completely appalling my grasp of the German language is. I called Simon that because of the Bible reference, the first disciple Simon, who was renamed Peter. Remember that, it's significant later on. The rhyme he sings is actually a real wartime poem which was written to discourage children from buying German toys.

Review if you are feeling charitable!