I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I just manipulate them under the influence of less than four hours of sleep. Long chapter, folks!


The world Lucy woke to was so drastically different from the one she'd lost her consciousness to that at first, she thought that perhaps she really had died in the flames and had passed on to sunnier meadows. The air was unpleasantly cool but she found she no longer had an objection to it. Sitting up carefully, checking herself for injuries (she discovered minor scrapes, bruises and burns, but nothing serious), she looked around her and was shocked to see the red interior of a Narnian military tent. Her throat felt scratchy.

The tent let in a considerable amount of light, enough to let her know that it was probably midmorning. That meant she'd probably slept for an entire day. Lucy forced herself awake and reluctantly slid her legs from under the thick blankets that were piled upon her, her unwillingness to leave the warm sanctuary overcome by her worried curiosity. Where was Edmund? Who had rescued them? Did they know anything about Peter and Susan?

With a surprised cry of sharp but immediately relenting pain, Lucy found that she'd stubbed her bare toe on her mail tunic, which someone had apparently removed. They hadn't removed her dress, however, and the singed, ripped and dirtied garment was eagerly shed as she found one of the ones she'd left at the riverside laid out for her. She slipped into the fresh gown with a new appreciation for clean clothes. Her boots, still in fairly good condition, were pulled up, laced and finally she reached for her belt, the dagger settling across her waist and the familiar weight of…

Lucy gasped in disbelief. Impossible! She pulled it from its leather case, turning the bottle in her hands over and over again, frantic hope fueling her hurried check of its reality. But there it was, clear as day, the crystal cool and smooth against her fingertips, still well more than half-full with its contents. She tucked it back in its holder and dashed from the tent, wincing as the sun stung her eyes. Before she knew it she'd been swept off her feet by the irrationally long arms of a certain sailor who whirled her around once before setting her gently back on the ground and falling into a bow, grinning the whole time.

"Thomas!" she cried delightedly. The gangly young man looked ready to burst into a jig, his eyes dancing with a carefree happiness.

"You're awake, milady," he said, staying where he knelt so that his face was level with hers.

"What are you doing here? Where is here? How did my cordial get back? Is Edmund all right? Do you know anything about…"

"So many questions! One at a time, Queen Lucy!" Thomas laughed, holding up a hand. "King Edmund is fine, last I knew he was resting in his tent. Obviously you're at the camp of the army of Aslan, and I am here because Carrul, your centaur friend, sent word that the armies were to be summoned. A number of my crewmates volunteered to bring what you and your siblings might need from the things you'd left at the beach.

"Your cordial is a far more interesting story. There we were on the riverbank, passing the time, when we heard somebody calling for help. A few of us ran to investigate and we found a poor little mermaid being hounded by several rather large, nasty sea nymphs. They were sticking her with their tridents, trying to get her to drop something that she was carrying. Of course, a few other sailors and I jumped down into the river to help, and we ah…" he stopped, apparently unwilling to share exactly what they'd done with Lucy.

"I understand," she said quietly. She had killed now, as well. She couldn't afford to be sensitive about it. He nodded gratefully and continued.

"Well we rescued the mermaid and she asked us if we would take something to Cair Paravel for her. Murray – sorry, crewmate of mine – he asked why she'd be wanting to head up to the Cair, and she replied that she had something important to give to Queen Lucy. Of course we knew you wouldn't be there. We told her we'd take whatever it was she'd found to you, and then she holds out her hands and gives us your belt with the cordial and dagger sheath still attached! Couldn't believe it myself, really, but she said it'd drifted down into her garden one day and that she recognized the engravings. In any case, you've got it now, eh?"

He patted her arm reassuringly, a broad grin on his face. Smiling equally, Lucy felt a new sense of hope welling up within her – at last, there were others there to help them. She was itching to run and show Ed her cordial. Maybe it could even cure that nasty cough of his! Thomas seemed to sense her thoughts, perhaps by noticing that her eyes flicked behind him searchingly, gave another smile and pointed to a red and gold tent to Lucy's right.

"In there," he said, jerking his head in the direction. "Should be awake by now."

She thanked him and practically skipped to the tent, stopping at the entrance to respect her brother's privacy.

"Ed?" she called, bouncing on the balls of her feet eagerly.

"Come on in, Lu," he answered. His voice was hoarse, but there was an unmistakable note of relief and happiness in it. She pushed open the tent-flap and stepped inside, blinking for a moment to adjust to the dimmer light. Edmund sat on a makeshift bed of mismatched blankets. His dark hair was mussed from sleep and he rubbed his eyes blearily, but he was grinning widely, looking almost gleeful, and Lucy didn't know the reason until she realized that they weren't alone in the tent. For a moment she froze up. It was simply too much – rescue, cordial, Thomas, this? – but she heard herself give an elated shriek and hastened to her eldest brother.

"Peter!" she cried ecstatically, throwing herself to her knees and hurling her arms around him. She felt his entire body stiffen at her touch, a badly-masked gasp of pain rushing past her ear, and she quickly drew away to look at him in concern. He gave a forced smile that she guessed was supposed to be dismissive. Edmund had moved from the comfort of his bed to watch his brother's face worriedly, and Lucy knew he was noting the same things she was; Peter sported a wicked cut on the right side of his jaw and several bruises ranging in size and color on his face and neck, disappearing down into his tunic.

"I'm all right," he said, noticing their anxious gazes. "Just a little bruised up."

Lucy caught Edmund's eyes, both knowing full fell that with Peter "a little bruised up" could very well mean "several broken ribs."

"Hey Lu, could you give us a minute?" he asked significantly. She nodded and began to back out.

"No, it's fine, I'm fine, just…" Peter tried to object, but she was already pushing her way out of the tent. She heard him turn his arguments to Edmund. "Ed, no, I'll be, I'll just, no, be reasonable…"

"Hold still, Peter," Lucy heard Edmund say quietly but insistently. The elder continued protesting, babbling a warning to his brother that as High King he could have him punished for disobeying orders, but Edmund merely gave a disdainful 'hmph' and seemed to continue with what he was doing. Suddenly there came an indignant yelp.

"Edmund!"

This was followed by a long silence from the tent, then Edmund gave a dismayed whimper while Peter hissed in pain. Lucy was bursting to know what was going on, plus she had a thousand and one questions to ask the elder. Then abruptly, Edmund had poked his head out from the tent and had a hand on her arm, pulling her back inside.

"No, I don't want her to see…" Peter protested, but he seemed to know it was hopeless. Lucy stepped into the badly lit space again. Her stare was greeted with one very agitated Edmund and one very self-conscious, very shirtless Peter, who was trying to hide the latter quality with bruised arms. His chest, back and arms were mottled in deep blues, purples and greens, yellow tinges spreading across his shoulder blades and scabbed cuts embellishing most of the nastier injuries. Lucy grew faint at the sight of it, her hand instantly flying to her cordial.

"No."

This time, his voice held an authoritative quality like the one he'd ordered them to run with. Lucy knew the matter was closed and dropped her hand limply back to her side.

"I'll…I'll be right back," said Edmund shakily, pushing past Lucy and out of the tent. She turned back to her eldest brother, who was watching her with tired blue eyes. She stood awkwardly as he knelt on his bed, looking worn and defeated.

"Peter?' she asked finally, and he looked up. "Was that you, last night?"

He smiled faintly, running a hand through his hair (she noticed deep red rope burns on his wrists) and shifting to sit on his blankets.

"Yes," he said simply.

"How did you find us?"

"I went looking for trouble," he chuckled. "Not alone, of course. I ran into the centaurs before we came across you." Lucy scratched at her arm uncomfortably.

"Where's Susan?" she asked in a very small voice. Peter gave a shudder and looked away quickly, clenching his eyes briefly shut and refusing to meet her stare.

"Safe, for now," he said hollowly. "It's a long story."

"Well then you can tell us while we clean you up," said Edmund, who had re-entered the tent with a pile of fresh linen, holding one bowl and balancing another in the crook of his elbow. The larger bowl was filled with water while the smaller contained some sort of an herb paste. Lucy took the smaller one from him and together, they knelt by their older brother. Peter looked ready to object but when he met the intense gaze of his younger brother, he swallowed and allowed the two to ease him on his stomach, the cuts and bruises across his back stark against his pale skin.

The High King could not stifle a whimper of pain when the first damp cloth touched his lower back. Squeezing his eyes shut, he let out a long, slow breath and tried to relax into the treatment.

" Susan," he said finally. And he began his story.