LUCY'S FINGERS comb through my hair, expertly working the tangles out while humming a calming, old Narnian song. Eyes closed, I relax and listen to the soft melody while her fingers run through my hair in a strangely soothing sensation. I feel my head yank back a little when she tugs on a particularly resilient knot.

She gasps and stops instantly. "Oh, I'm sorry! I thought I'd gotten all of them."

"Don't worry," I laugh. "It's all Edmund's fault if you ask me." The mess he made of my hair from throwing me over his shoulder like a sack of flour is astounding.

"That is true." She giggles and resumes her untangling with gentle fingers. I offered to regrow all my hair so it comes back smooth and free of the knots it acquired throughout the day, but Lucy insisted that was half the fun of doing someone's hair. And so, she set about getting to work while the boys and Trumpkin went off to gather firewood and food for a proper meal.

Now finished with checking and sharpening her arrows, Susan sets her quiver aside and looks over at us with a smile. "What are you thinking, Lu?" She asks. "A crown braid or some simple plaits?"

"I don't know," she muses thoughtfully, dragging her fingers through my hair, disentangled at last. "Which do you think Edmund would like?"

I nearly choke on the air in my throat. "Lucy!" I exclaim in shock. The two of them burst into a fit of laughter while I fight the embarrassed shades of red creeping across my cheeks.

Susan grins and examines my face. "I think you'd look lovely with a simple plait," she decides.

"Really?" Lucy gets to her feet and comes around to take in my appearance next to her sister. She tilts her head to the side, eyebrows drawn together and lips pursed slightly in contemplation. She nods and glances at Susan. "You're right." An excited grin blooms across the young queen's lips when she meets my eyes. "You're going to love it," she gushes, accepting a small, circular band from Susan before hurrying back to me.

"So will Edmund," the older girl teases. I roll my eyes at the jesting and sit still as Lucy begins her work on my hair, using her fingers to pull it back into a tight grip.

Susan smirks. "Shall I find some flowers to tie in as well?" She asks.

"Yes, please!" Lucy sings, gathering loose strands at my temples. "Little white ones would look beautiful!"

I chuckle softly and stop myself from pointing out how they're unlikely to keep their appearance through the night. Lucy can have fun and appreciate them until then, perhaps even keep a few flowers to put in before we're to start hiking tomorrow morning.

Slinging her bow and quiver across her back, Susan grins down at the two of us. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she declares, heading off into the trees in search of Lucy's requested flowers. I watch her disappear into the woods, the leaves and bushes swallowing her figure. Lucy scolds me when I interrupt her careful work by reaching out to grab my sword, dragging it across the grass so it rests beside me. Just in case.

"How did you learn to braid?" I ask.

"My mum," she replies, sounding wistful. "She used to braid my hair all the time, and she showed me how with ribbon so I could practice until I was good enough to do my own hair. But she was really busy, so Susan helped teach me when mum couldn't; she's a lot better at it than me. And..."

I smile, listening to Lucy go on about her mother and Susan, fondly recounting her lessons in hairstyling with the two. I try not to let it get me down — the way her voice fills with warmth and love when she speaks of them, causing my heart to ache and my thoughts to flood with what if's. Luckily, I don't have to bear it for long. As promised, only a few minutes pass before Susan reappears from the bush with a haphazardly picked bouquet of flowers.

Grinning, she holds them up with a dramatic flourish. "Will these do?"

"They're perfect," Lucy says, her hands unpausing in their twisting of strands of my hair.

The Gentle Queen looks over her shoulder at something in the trees. Focusing my hearing, I can make out the sounds of bushes and greenery rustling — they're back.

"What are those for?" Peter asks when the three of them emerge into the clearing, his confused gaze resting on Susan's handful of wildflowers.

"Lucy is doing Arryn's hair," she responds.

Firewood piled in his arms, Edmund follows his brother to the fire pit they constructed earlier. His sable eyes fall on me and a smile forms on his lips before he refocuses on building the fire. The two brothers dump their branches onto the grass and begin constructing a teepee inside the circle of rocks. I feel Lucy tense up when Trumpkin lays out his kill: a trio of squirrels and two rabbits. That, along with the rest of the bear meat and the few apples we still have, will likely be enough for both tonight and tomorrow morning.

By the mane, I hate meat.

Susan sidesteps the boys kneeling in the grass and approaches us with the flowers. "Looks good, Lu," she says, inspecting her younger sister's work on my hair. "Make sure you keep it tight all the way through."

I feel her pause. "Do you think I should redo it?"

Susan laughs softly. "No," she says, "we'll put all of it loose after so you won't tell."

While the two of them fuss over my hair, I watch the boys work at the fire pit, the sword's metal cool against my skin as my fingers trace the curve of the hilt. As if he can feel my stare, Edmund looks up and grins, eyes shining with amusement. I can just about hear his teasing in my head.

Peter takes notice of his brother's divided attention and looks up at the three of us as well, unable to contain a small laugh. "I'm surprised you managed to last two days before Lucy got her hands on you."

From behind me, I hear the young girl giggle. "Susan's hair was beginning to get a bit boring."

The brothers grin while Susan gasps in mock hurt, causing Lucy to laugh harder.

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"I like what Lucy did to your hair."

I smile at Edmund. Lucy will be happy to hear that. "I do, too. It's nice having it out of my face." I can just as easily shorten my hair myself, but something about the Queen tying it back in a lovely pattern seems much more...me. The flowers she put in undoubtedly make the braid look wonderful, as well. I love it and am doing my best not to ruin it and ensure it survives the night by laying on my stomach.

Edmund — laying a foot or so in front of and rolled over onto his stomach as well — laughs quietly at my response. "Can't you control how long it is?"

"Yes, but I prefer to keep it long. And this way, I don't have to change it to keep it out of my way." My fingers itch to run over the long plait resting on my back, and I have to remind myself of the carefully placed flowers I might wreck by doing so. "It isn't very convenient to tie it back if I'm going to be shifting anyways," I admit, mindlessly threading my fingers through the long grass. "So I never do it, but I like it."

He nods, though his eyes are narrowed and focused on my hand. "How'd you get that?"

I look down, the crackling fire casting an orange light across the back of my hand where a long scar can be seen. I smile and open my mouth to respond, but any words or thoughts I have instantly turn incoherent when he reaches out and takes my hand in his, his fingers warm and soft against my skin.

How did I...? The scar...Oh, right: a sword. "Um, it was Caspian," I reply after a moment, watching the flames' flickering glow illuminate one side of his face through the darkness. "When we were really young, he was supposed to start his fencing lessons and wanted to get a headstart, so he convinced me to help him." It isn't the only one I got from fencing with him, either.

He exhales a quiet laugh, running his finger across the diagonal band of dark, lifted tissue. "Looks like it hurt."

"It did." I grin at the memory. "At first, Caspian thought he walloped my hand clean off with all the blood. Then, like any guilty children, we tried to deal with it ourselves. We eventually realized it'd be impossible to hide and the risk of infection was too great, so we told Cornelius who immediately dragged me off to a nurse. Compared to the stitches, though, it wasn't bad. Those hurt."

Edmund looks up at me with wide eyes. "Stitches are the worst," he agrees. "You probably couldn't shift until it healed, either."

I shook my head. "It was the most boring four weeks ever. And I was so mad at him to begin with, but he was my only friend in the palace, so I forgave him after a few days. We laugh about it, now. And I got back at him a few times once I learned to use a sword."

He smirks, gentle fingers turning my hand over as if memorizing everything about it — the lines of my palm, the blemishes and freckles, the shape, the imperfections: everything.

His finger traces the soft flesh at the base of my thumb. "Is this from him, too?" He asks.

"No." I know what he's referring to without having to see for myself: two intersecting lines of white skin. I remember asking Cornelius many times myself if it's a set of scars, as the lines look like healed over cuts. But it isn't. "That's just a birthmark. Cornelius used to tell me it was a mark from a past life," I explain, smiling at the tale I once fervently believed to be true. He knew I loved all his stories of magic, and he always did his best to add a little to my own life. It did the trick until I grew older, my interests shifting to swordplay and espionage, instead.

Edmund smiles at the humorous bit of narrative, his fingers warm against my palm. "I have a scar in the same spot, actually. But I got it from a broken teacup."

I lift my gaze to fix the boy with an incredulous look. "How in the world did you do that?"

A sheepish grin splits his face and he shrugs. "I was tired, I woke up with this awful headache and I didn't notice the handle was broken until Susan pointed out the blood — quite a lot from a little chip in the handle, but it was sharp." His amused expression turns nostalgic and downcast. "That was the day we left." He turns his hand over to present the small scar: the raised lines rough and light against his skin. "It was fresh that day, but when we returned it was healed over and looked like this."

Seemingly having switched roles, I grasp his comparably larger hand and tilt it toward the fire's leaping flames for better lighting. To my surprise, it actually resembles my own mark but is evidently the result of a deep cut and sits slightly higher on his thumb. I run my fingers over it, my mind searching for the right words to say. "If you hadn't left, then," I murmur, looking up into his dark, heart-wrenching eyes. "You might never have been able to help us now."

Edmund gaze drops and he nods his head solemnly, threading his fingers securely through mine and squeezing in a way that unmistakably says thank you.

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author's note

aww i love this chapter too lol ik i say that about all of them but it's true. i can't help writing all these adorable moments between the gang because once they meet up with caspian and get to aslan's how, it's go time lmao there won't be a whole lot of time for cuteness

i've just started working on writing the palace raid and i already know it ain't gonna be easy with the action sequences lol highkey excited to release it and see what y'all think though

also, another fun fact, the campfire scene in the movie was actually filmed indoors in a huge sort of theatre, which was also used for the dancing lawn council scene! & in one of those scenes as well, georgie henley (lucy) had a little caterpillar chilling on her dress lol it was edited out in post

anyways, i hope you guys are enjoyed this chapter! :)