I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. I just relate them to every aspect of my pathetic life, and attempt at every moment to overcome any obstacle that prevents me from seeing the movie.
It seemed that the longer they traveled, the denser and healthier the forest became. An hour after they'd left their lunch site, the ground was a rich brown and the trees were truly flourishing, and it really felt like Narnian summer there beneath the canopy. It was warmer than before, somehow; the rain of several days before had completely dried up. Lucy would have appreciated it much more if Edmund hadn't been making a point of avoiding Peter. When two hours had passed and Carrul called a rest, she decided to take matters in her own hands. After all, if Susan wasn't there to knock some sense into their brothers, it was up to her.
"Edmund," she said in her most grown-up voice, approaching him where he leaned against a tree. He looked up warily.
"Yes, Lu?"
"Why aren't you speaking to Peter?"
He frowned, eyes flickering around the area. Peter was conversing with Carrul a ways off, probably out of earshot if they talked quietly. After a brief moment he returned his gaze to his younger sister.
"Because he's being a bloody mule right now," Edmund said crossly.
"He's just worried," said Lucy, feeling the need to defend her eldest brother. After all he'd been through recently, he certainly didn't need a cold shoulder from Ed as well.
"That's just it, isn't it? He's always worried," snapped Edmund, suddenly rounding on Lucy with a rather angry look. "He's so worried about everyone else that he's running himself into the ground. Sometimes I don't understand him at all, Lu."
"He's just…just trying to be a good older brother," said Lucy nervously. She was a little afraid that Ed was going to become irritated with her, too.
"No, he's trying to be a king and a leader and a protector and a brother all at once," he said heatedly. "I promised Peter I would watch his back, and right now his most dangerous enemy is his bloody hero complex, or maybe his wretched habit of taking the brunt of everything. I swear, if he…"
"What are we talking about?"
Edmund looked up sharply, an alarmed and guilty expression flashing across his face before he composed himself. Lucy didn't doubt that Peter knew exactly what he had been talking about, but guessed that he didn't want a direct confrontation. If she knew him, he would bring it up later, away from the ears of those whose business it was not.
"Nothing," muttered Ed, slouching against the tree. His brother gave him a look before turning to Lucy.
"You've got your cordial, right?" She nodded. " Susan will need it. Carrul says we're but a few hours off."
Lucy and Edmund both brightened at this, though the latter of the two tried to turn the excited jerk of his head into a check of the bushes, as if he'd seen something in them. The corner of Lucy's mouth twitched amusedly. She pulled out her canteen, taking a drink from it and then replacing it in the satchel she carried over her shoulder. The party rested for several more minutes before Peter began to look impatient, and Carrul called for a move on. Edmund straightened out and hefted his pack, ambling over to where his older brother stood.
"You sure you're ready?" he asked stiffly. He followed this with a deliberate glance at Lucy, as if to say 'I'm making an effort. Good enough?' She gave him a small smile.
"Yes," said Peter, grinning. Because gauntleted hands made for bad hair-mussing, he settled for a one-armed hug, which caused Edmund to make a face, but he didn't pull away. As they headed out, Lucy falling into stride beside Thomas, she watched her brothers with a fond look.
"Ed, about the sword?" she heard Peter say. Edmund frowned and tried to escape the arm around his shoulder.
"Look, I don't want to talk about it. Rhindon's practically an extension of your arm. I wasn't about to leave it behind."
Peter only pulled him closer, and Lucy just barely caught the next comment.
"Maybe it's a part of my arm," murmured Peter secretively, into Ed's ear, "but I could hardly hold a sword without my right hand - my little brother. Hm?"
Thomas and Lucy shared a look as Edmund gently shoved his brother away, a sheepish flush creeping across his face.
"Oh, come off it, Peter," he muttered darkly, but Lucy couldn't help but think that he looked rather flattered. She grinned.
They'd been walking for another five minutes, not one person speaking, when Thomas abruptly began to hum a simple, flowing tune. The second centaur in the party shot him an irritated glance, which made Lucy giggle, but the faun looked up appreciatively; the young queen walked beside her friend and listened for a moment longer. When he'd finished she asked him what it was.
"An old song, milady," he replied, smiling. "A sailor's tune."
"Oh!" said Lucy. "I should like to hear the words."
"As you wish," said Thomas, offering her a mock bow even as he walked. "But we'd best ask if it's all right to sing, first. What's the name of that centaur chap? I can never remember."
"Carrul!" called Lucy, and the centaur stopped to turn and face her. "Is it safe to be singing? I mean, will anyone be bothered?" He gave her an impassive look.
"I can't see why not," he replied. He sounded less than enthused, but then again centaurs weren't known for their appreciation of music. As they continued on, she nodded to Thomas, who then opened his mouth and sang in a clear tenor:
"Across the sea and far away,
When daylight comes a-creepin',
You'll find a cabin, small and warm,
Inside, my lass a-sleepin'.
Her hair as fine as new-spun silk,
Her laugh like bells a-ringin',
My lass as true as e'er was,
My song her praises singin'."
This went on for many verses, each one varying slightly in tune, Thomas occasionally using his hands as percussion. Lucy watched him in fascination, his black eyes sparkling in the sunlight that filtered through the trees as he sang out. Finally he took a deep breath and began the last verse.
"Across the sea and far away,
Love's illness has me taken,
For though I'm hers, she'll not be mine;
And so my heart's a- breakin'."
Lucy smiled despite the text (the tune was still quite merry) and threw her arms about her friend, talking quickly and excitedly. He shuffled his feet and looked modest but glowed with pride anyway.
"That was lovely!" exclaimed the faun, who'd come up to walk beside them when Thomas had begun singing.
"A high compliment indeed, coming from one such as yourself," said Thomas gratefully.
"Oh, do sing another," Lucy requested. The centaur muttered mutinously, but kept his silence.
Three hours and many, many songs later (with long talks in between, of course), even Peter was beginning to become annoyed. Finally he stopped walking, turning around to face the giddy pair with an uncharacteristically impatient look.
"Can we get a moment of peace, here?" he pleaded. Lucy burst out laughing at his expression, which only made him look even more exasperated. Edmund turned around, and far less apologetically said,
"What our dear brother is trying to say, Lu, is shut up." Despite the irritation in his voice, he still looked amused. She sank into a curtsey, staggering slightly at the weight of her mail shirt.
"I hear and obey, O King Edmund the Unappreciative," she said, her voice slightly hoarse from the nonstop talking. The faun, whose name was Renlin, stifled a laugh, but after that there was nothing but the sound of leaves crunching beneath their feet and the clink of chain mail and armor. The sun had passed its peak in the sky. It was slowly descending, the late-afternoon light bringing out the vivid colors of the wood, bathing everything in a warm, rich glow. Strangely enough, Lucy felt even more hopeful as it sank lower and lower. Soon, she told herself. Not long now until their family was reunited.
She glanced at her brothers and found that they, too, were looking more and more eager the longer they walked. Her legs were sore and tired but she felt more inspired than she had all day. Shifting her belt so that she could keep a hand on her cordial, she increased her pace and began to watch for any trees that she could honestly call more ancient than any others she'd seen. They were moving west, she knew, and a little south; probably two day's walk from what used to be the Witch's castle. Lucy was suddenly jerked out her daydreams by Carrul.
"Majesties," he said, and halted. The rest of the party stopped and faced him. For a moment, the grey centaur's face held the barest flicker of a warm smile. "Here the rest of us stop. Carry on through these trees for a few more minutes and you will find your sister."
Even Edmund could not hide his excitement. The three siblings exchanged an expectant look.
"Thank you," said Peter, his hand tight upon the hilt of his sword. As Ed and Lu hurried to come beside him, he led the way through the underbrush with a new sense of urgency. Lucy looked wonderingly up at the trees, which were taller than any others they'd seen so far. True to Peter's word, they seemed to be incredibly ancient, mysterious and looming in the gathering darkness; the siblings hurried through their shadow for several minutes, not speaking. Just when it seemed the forest could not grow any denser, the sylvan environment gave way to a perfectly circular grove with one immense old tree in the very center. In the cradle of its roots were several wrinkled dryads. They looked up at the sound of the three monarchs approaching, exchanged knowing smiles, and parted to let them through.
"Welcome, Your Highnesses," said one in a whispery tone, her long white hair flowing over her bare shoulders. She was acknowledged with a small nod from Peter, but all three had eyes only for the figure who lay, still as death, between the roots of the great tree.
" Susan," said Lucy breathily, and flew to her sister's side.
