(A/N): Hey, all! (Ducks as rotten fruits, eggs and vegetables are thrown at her). I am SO sorry I took this long to update... but I have just returned to New Zealand and it took me two weeks to settle so... heheh... and I'm sorry if this chapter is a bit, well, all over the place, but I have no excuse for that... but I have just baked a banana cake so once I figure out how to fit it into the CD tray, you'll all get a piece:). And not to sound discontented or anything, but I have some people who have me on their faves but don't review (hint, hint). But don't let me keep you guys... Enjoy! (I hope)...(starts cramming slices of banana cake into CD tray)
Disclaimer: Shhh! Can you hear that? It's C.S.Lewis rolling around in his grave because I've decided to update this fic. So, I OBVIOUSLY don't own this stuff.
Peter swung her around and around until she became dizzy, and her laughter rung clear around the camp. After first dance was over, she was passed around to the next dancer; from Edmund to Lucy, from Susan to a dryad, and so forth, until she lost count of how many dances she danced around the fire and with how many partners. When the High King had reclaimed her hand for one last dance, the bonfire they had been dancing around that night had diminished in size and the moths fluttered about among the embers that rose from the fire. As he twirled her about to the sweet pipe music, she looked up into his eyes, and for a moment, was lost in them. Sabra smiled a dreamy smile not noticing that the hem of her dress had brushed the edge of the fire.
In fact, she only perceived the fact when the flames had climbed up the side of her dress and licked her left leg. The intense pain caused all thoughts to abandon her mind; she screamed, that too echoing around like her laugh had. Suddenly, a single memory popped into her head; she had a brief glimpse of her Year Five P.E. Class, when Mrs. Savory had taught them to "Stop, drop and roll" if they ever caught fire. So that was what she did. She stopped running around like a mad hen, dropped to the ground, and rolled as if there was no tomorrow. Her actions had effectively put out the fire, but now, her left leg was burnt and she was covered from head to toe with dirt.
Well, it is a lot better than being burnt alive, thank you, said the little voice in her head.
As she looked around, she became aware that the fauns had stopped playing their flutes and that everyone was staring at her. Despite the pain, she felt her cheeks redden at all the attention she was getting. The deafening silence was becoming quite unbearable, when Peter stooped down, scooped her up, and carried her back to her tent. How he knew where that was, she did not ask, but as soon as she was set down on the pillows, Susan and Lucy burst into the tent, the latter holding a crystal flask. Susan delicately lifted her dress to expose Sabra's leg, taking care so as not to brush the burns, while Lucy lifted the stopper off the flask and let a single drop of its contents fall onto Sabra's wounds. Her expression of pain gave way to one of astonishment as she felt her pain fade away to mere memory.
"How?" she asked, in amazement.
Lucy opened her mouth to explain, when someone, a faun, entered the tent bearing a tray. Thanking him, Susan lifted a cup from the tray and handed it to Sabra.
"It is a soothing drink, it will help you calm down after what just happened," she explained, catching Sabra's questioning look. "And that-" she gestured towards Lucy's flask, "-is a cordial, made from the juice of a fire flower. It is a restorative, as you have just seen."
" But you should drink that now and get some sleep, for we are to depart for Cair Paravel quite early tomorrow. Good night." Lucy interrupted, smiling and backed out of the tent with her sister behind her.
Sabra sniffed the drink and finding that it smelt a bit like the sickly sweet tea her mum used to serve, she pinched her nose and downed it in three gulps. Almost immediately, she felt a warm, drowsy feeling flood her body. Obedient to both Lucy and the drink, she drifted off to sleep.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
She knew she was dreaming. She was dancing in the middle of a forest; probably a Narnian forest for she could recognize most of the trees. Her dancing partner was none other than the High King. He spun her around in the same way he had earlier that evening, but this time there was no one else. At the end of the dance, he pulled her closer towards him, their lips only a few centimeters away. Sabra, knowing perfectly well that it was just a dream, leaned forward. After all, it was only a figment of her overactive imagination. What could possibly happen?
The instant their lips touched, her head started throbbing. She pulled away from Peter, her mind registering his expression of shock and fear. But his eyes weren't on her. Sabra turned. The forest was on fire, and she could hear a voice echoing throughout the blazing forest.
"-And all of Narnia shall be overturned and perish in fire and water."
She turned to face Peter but he was not there. In his place stood a lion, majestic and regal. Aslan.
" What do you want from me?" she screamed at the highest of high kings. "What am I doing here?"
Instead of answering her, the lion faded from view. Water rained down from the sky, quenching the fires. But even though the fires were put out, the water still fell. Sabra tried to get out of there, but she was rooted to the spot. The water rose higher, to ankle height, then to her knees. Soon it rose higher than her chest and before long she was drowning. She tried to scream underwater and water rushed in and filled her lungs.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Sabra woke up, her throat hoarse as if she had been screaming. A pair of strong hands grasped her shoulders (Three guesses, who that was).
"Lady," Peter said, shaking her slightly, "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." Sabra sat up and instinctively clutched her pendant, for it was a source of comfort to her. "I just had a bad dream, that's all."
She looked up and become conscious of how close his face was to hers. Uncalled for, her blood rushed to her cheeks. In the dimness of the candle illuminated tent, Peter grinned. That surprised her. Wasn't he supposed to be the proper, courteous, and chivalrous sort of person?
"To what do I owe that charming blush of yours, lady?" he asked softly.
For a fleeting second, she thought of leaning forward but then, all of a sudden, images of her dream flashed before her eyes. She assumed that it was some type of warning not to engage in a romantic relationship with the High King (a collective chorus of assent from thousands of fan girls could be heard). Sheesh. Whoever it was worrying unnecessarily. She had already promised herself not to fall for a book recognizable character. The falling of breath on her cheek jolted her back to reality. Wait a minute. Was this even reality? She had known the king for all of about a week or so, and now he wanted to kiss her? This could not be real. Their lips were about to meet-
"-And all of Narnia shall be overturned and perish in fire and water," she whispered.
