I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. It just makes me very happy to write about them.


Two days later, Lucy was surprised (and a little disappointed) to find that nothing dangerous or exciting had taken place. She had fairly expected to be attacked by pirates or rogue mermen or at least something early on, but instead there had only been fair weather, calm seas, and easy sailing. She stood by the bowsprit, fresh ocean air tickling her face, leaning against the sturdy railing and wondering how long it would take to reach the North Coast her brother had spoken of. Her mind wandered. Four year had passed since their coronation. It had been a lovely dream at first, full of ceremonies and balls and beautiful places to visit, not to mention the number of fascinating people and creatures she had met. Then it had settled in her that it was real, though it never became mundane. She understood that Narnia was real and that she was not dreaming. It didn't make it any less wonderful.

Lucy looked sideways as the deck creaked and Peter came to rest beside her, leaning on his elbows and staring out to sea. There was nothing to see but blue. She waited for a moment, expecting him to say something, but he was silent. Her own gaze returned to the ocean. Frowning, Lucy couldn't help but feel that she had never shared a more awkward moment with her brother; what made it feel that way she couldn't determine either. She opened her mouth to say something, closed it, and rubbed her hands together anxiously. Finally he cleared his throat.

"Lu?" he asked quietly.

"Yes?"

"Are you excited?"

This seemed a most peculiar question. Firstly, of course she was excited. It was the first real adventure they had set out on since before the Battle of Beruna, and the first one they'd headed into willingly. Secondly, to Lucy, everything was exciting. It was part of who she was. Then of course there was the spontaneity of the query. She didn't answer for a moment.

"Yes," she said finally, not keeping the bewilderment out of her voice. He gave a small chuckle.

"Of course you are," he said. "Who wouldn't be?" But she got the feeling there was something else he wanted to say, so she waited patiently. The ship rocked gently beneath their feet.

"It could be dangerous." Peter spoke offhandedly. Lucy looked at him.

"I'm not scared, if that's what you're thinking."

"No, I wasn't worried about that," he said with a smile. "It's…it's hard, sometimes, for me to accept that you can take care of yourself. I have to keep telling myself that you're old enough to be off gallivanting like this, that I wasn't much older when we first came here. I know you don't need me much anymore, Lu, but I just wanted to let you know that you're never too old to ask for help, so if you ever need me, I'm here."

"I'll keep that in mind," she replied. She wasn't really sure why he was telling her this. There was the feeling that he was having regrets about taking her along.

"Love you like a sister, Lucy," he said as he looked back over the ocean.

"I am your sister, silly," she laughed.

"Well, that's the point, isn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose it is."

There followed another long silence, but this one was comfortable. Lucy fingered the dagger on her belt. She had never really had a reason to use it; in the archery range she was capable of throwing it with alarming accuracy, and she had on occasion applied it to a picnic meal or something equally trivial, but not once had she made use of its intended property. The thought of it made her feel rather queasy and of the two gifts, she much preferred the cordial.

A loud banging noise yanked Lucy from her daydream. She and Peter turned to look behind them, where a door had just been flung open by their sister.

"Come on, you two!" Susan called. "Lunch!"

"Yes, Mum!" Lucy called back, grinning. She and Peter laughed at Susan's indignant face, then crossed the deck and entered the galley together. Inside, a large pot of stew bubbled furiously above a blazing fire. A few sailors were singing loudly as they passed bowls and spoons throughout the room, their booming voices rising above the happy chatter that filled the ship's kitchen and dining room. Lucy smiled and then laughed as she heard the last bit of their song.

"So sail away with us, my lad,

The sailor's life with thrill you,

And though the sea can cruel be,

The grub's the thing that kills you!"

The youngest of the Pevensies had to disagree with this as the salty scent of the stew reached her. Something that smelled so good could not possibly taste so bad. Reaching out to accept a bowl and spoon from one of the singing men, she found a place in the line that had formed behind the stew pot. On the first day, the sailors had tried to make the four rulers stand first in line, but as Edmund (aptly titled the Just) had pointed out, those really working should be served first.

Presently Lucy stood in front of the great bubbling cauldron and held out her bowl, which was then filled with a thick, rich broth. She voiced her thanks to the cook, a plump, rosy-cheeked man, and hurried off to where Susan and Edmund sat on one of the long wooden benches, chatting amicably as they ate. Lucy set down her bowl, took a seat next to her sister and joined in with a will.

"It's really not bad at all so far," Susan was saying. "I was expecting to feel rather awful at first, due to the ship's rocking and such, but I haven't been bothered in the slightest. And of course the sailors are such an agreeable lot."

"True," Edmund agreed. "They showed me how to climb up to the crow's nest, and how to tie quite a few interesting knots that could come in useful."

"Oh, Ed, how is it way up there? Is it scary? Can you see forever?" Lucy asked excitedly. She had looked up at the crow's nest several times before, wondering what it would be like to be so high up.

"Not forever, but far, yes. And it is scary, because what feels like the tiniest pitch down here is a frightfully wide sway up there. I would hate to be up there in bad weather."

"I don't think I'd like to be up there at all," said Susan with a nervous laugh.

"No, I don't think you would," conceded Edmund. He moved to make room for Peter, who had just arrived at the table with his own meal. The eldest of the children, though it was not quite fair to call them children anymore, wore an expression of mild worry. Susan, as usual, was first to notice.

"What's wrong, Peter?" she asked. He looked up.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just thinking."

"About?"

"This and that. Mainly the rumors," he said.

"I'm sure it will be fine," Susan replied, and reached over to pat his arm reassuringly. Her brother smiled but did not reply. Lucy met Edmund's eyes. Both knew that something was troubling their brother, and that he would not easily divulge it. This was one of the problems with Peter – he tended to bear his problems alone, and would not ask for help. The conversation continued idly and the topic did not arise again. Scraping the last bit of soup from her bowl, Lucy rose from the table and excused herself to go outside, where she returned to the bowsprit and thought about things. Her earlier conversation with Peter, and the worry that he attempted to hide from all of them, both of them pointed to something he knew. Something that he wasn't willing to share with them. And this, more than anything, worried Lucy, because there was nothing she felt she could not speak to her brother about and it was quite unsettling to think that there was something for which he did not feel the same.