Edited by the lovely Realismandromance - many many thanks!

Also many thanks to those of you who reviewed! I love to know what you think!

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There was not much additional information that Elka, Fritjof's mate, gave them, but at least they found out where the two missing dwarfs had usually gone to acquire food for their clan. It was a trading place at a clearing in the woods, where a creek from the icy mountaintops ended in a small lake. Here, mining dwarfs met with forging dwarfs and exchanged raw materials for metal tools; other Narnians also came, and offered fresh bread and fruit and wine. It was a place known only by the local Narnians; they called it Farford. However, Edmund was sure that he had heard of it before, but he just couldn't recall in what context.

It was late when they left the mine, and although Edmund would have preferred to ride to Farford that very evening, he knew it wouldn't make sense. There wouldn't be anybody there. Most of the trading happened in the morning.

Secretly, he was hoping that by visiting Farford he would get the chance to pick up some fresh food for himself and his soldiers. There had been nothing the dwarfs could spare, and the field rations they'd brought from Cair Paravel had gone stale by now. After having gone through the whole day with nothing but a few bites of tasteless pastry in the morning and a litre of dwarf beer in the afternoon, Edmund was considerably hungry. On top of that, the heavy beer on a nearly empty stomach had made him feel a little dizzy, too. He was careful to not let Peter notice, though.

Edmund knew that, if he was lucky, Alroy might have sent some of their soldiers hunting for fresh meat while the kings were at the dwarf mine. And, of course (as usual), he wasn't disappointed by his second-in-command; when the kings and their guard returned to the camp, they found that there was a fire burning and rabbits on the spit.

With a sensibly large portion of grilled meat, Edmund found himself a place a little aside from the soldiers. Here, he sat on a rock and watched his people contently as they ate and chatted with the High King amidst them. Laughter rang out to him every once in a while, and Edmund smiled silently every time he could distinguish his brother's hearty laughter among the others.

"Don't you start brooding," said a well-known, well-beloved voice next to Edmund. "There will be lots of time for that later tonight if you keep up your recent sleeping patterns, Edmund."

"I'd much rather not," admitted Edmund, looking up at Philip who had joined him, chewing silently, grass stalks sticking out from his jaw.

"Were you successful today?" Philip shifted himself a little, offering his flank for his exhausted king to lean against and get a little more comfortable. With Philip's big frame standing between him and the other soldiers, blocking Edmund from their view, the king allowed himself the comfort of leaning back. What with the little sleep he was managing to get on this mission, it was no wonder that he felt tired, although it wasn't late in the evening.

"Depends," he replied to Philip's question, and stretched his legs out with a little sigh. "At least we know where to look next."

"In the morning, I shall hope ... you look dead on your feet, my friend."

Edmund smirked. "Of course, Philip, of course. In the morning."

X

It came to him that night – the memory that he had raided his subconscious for all this time.

Skygrace, one of the fastest eagles in the army, recently promoted to messenger of the west, had come in for the regular monthly audience with his king. It was his job to bring back news from Lantern Waste and the Western Woods to Cair Paravel.

Trying to focus on his messenger's reports, Edmund couldn't help being a little short-tempered. All afternoon, he had been highly distracted. It was no wonder; word had just come in from Anvard that Peter was gravely wounded and in a very bad way. King Lune and his healers were doing all they could to get the High King into good enough shape to travel back to Cair Paravel, but it didn't look good. Edmund and Susan had already had a lengthy discussion, trying to decide whether they should send Lucy out to travel to Anvard and get the healing cordial to their brother.

"There is one more thing, Sire," Skygrace was just saying.

"Huh?" The king realised, not for the first time, that he had not been listening.

"Nothing too important, I daresay," said the eagle, regarding his king thoughtfully. "But I should think you had better know anyway."

"Pray tell, Skygrace," said Edmund, forcing himself to focus.

"I came across a trading place. The locals call it Farford. It's where dwarfs and woodlanders exchange their various goods. It's far from any human settlement in Narnia." That wasn't a surprise; the few human settlements that had developed in Narnia during the six years after the long winter were all in the south; most humans were coming in from Archenland.

Skygrace continued with his report. "I talked to a few nymphs. They frequent the place merely for gossip, so they are my best source of information to find out about everything that's going on –"

"To the point, please," interrupted Edmund curtly. Even on a good day, he was not fond of having too much subsidiary information to process. Unlike Peter, who always seemed to have use for a lengthy tale, Edmund preferred straight-to-the-point reports.

"The nymphs just mentioned that they saw men drinking from the lake where Farford lies and bathing in it. Humans. They found that very unusual."

"But there was no trouble rising up with them around?"

"No, Sire. Obviously, they haven't been seen there again. It was several weeks ago."

"Strange ..." mumbled Edmund. He was about to order Skygrace to gather more information when the door to the council chamber was roughly pushed open and an uncharacteristically dishevelled-looking Susan tumbled inside.

"We just received another message from Anvard, Edmund – they're sending a party to bring Peter back. King Lune says it might be best if Lucy rode to meet them halfway with her cordial. I shall send her, but I would feel much better if you rode with her."

So Edmund did – and, forgetting all about Farford, he commanded Skygrace to set out and meet the party from Archenland and tell them exactly which way they were to take, to make sure they didn't miss each other along the way. There were two paths that could be taken: one ran along the very seashore and was straight, but also rocky and difficult for horses; the other ran through woods – a much easier ride, although slightly longer. It was the latter which he chose, for it was still the faster way to go when on horse, and getting to his brother's aid as fast as he could consumed his thoughts.

X

Farford was a place of unique beauty, Peter had to admit as he slowly rode along the small lake that lay by the clearing that Elka, the dwarf, had described them. The lake was fed by a creek of crystal clear water which came elegantly down from a steep cliff just a couple hundred yards to the west, where the mountains lay. Peter assumed that the creek had built from melted snow somewhere high up, where ice and winter lasted all year.

As beautiful as the place was, there was one thing missing about it, and Peter wondered why. It was supposed to be a regularly frequented trading place, but there was nobody here. No dwarfs, no fauns, no nymphs or beasts. The place was lifeless and still in a way that was almost creepy.

Peter dug his heels gently into Adel's sides, urging his horse to catch up with Philip, who was a good hundred steps ahead with the rest of today's party. Only now, the High King realised that he had been so awed that he had not kept pace with his brother and the soldiers. For some reason, however, Edmund obviously had not yet noticed it; otherwise, he would have commanded the party to stop and wait. Peter grinned to himself; his little brother had been a right nuisance ever since they had left Cair Paravel five days ago, keeping such a watchful eye on him. It was as endearing as it was tedious.

To avoid an unnecessary scolding in front of all the soldiers, Peter hurried to catch up. When Adel reached Philip, who was trotting forward at a good pace, looking alert, Peter called out, "Where in the name of Aslan is everybody? Isn't this place supposed to be a busy trading area?"

"You're quite right to ask so, King Peter. I daresay something must have happened here," said Philip.

"You must be right, Philip," said Edmund, as he made the horse slow down. He let his eyes wander along the opposite shore of the lake, searching for movement in the trees; on the other side, there was no clearing, as the trees came right up to the water.

It was all still.

Peter slowed Adel down as well, but nevertheless he was now in the lead of the party, which consisted of the two kings, Castor the centaur, Carron and a group of fauns armed with bows as well as swords – and finally, supposed to be flanking them, Fizz and Roak, the two swiftest cheetahs in the royal guard. Intending to correct their order, Peter made Adel stop and stand sideways, meaning for Roak to pass by him and take the lead as he was supposed to. It was just then that he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye.

It was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving behind the eerie stillness they had experienced since arriving here.

But then, Carron's voice rang out loudly from behind him. "Gather around the kings – hurry!"

Everything happened very fast. Peter felt his pulse speed up. His body tensed, and below him Adel sidled about nervously.

Suddenly, there was noise as several humans, at the tops of their voices, shouted out something of a battle cry, and before the small party knew what was happening, there came several men from the woods, running across the clearing towards the startled Narnians, their broad swords raised in open display of aggression.

We won't stand a chance; there are too many of them, Peter thought at once, as the men approached.

If only Alroy and the rest of their soldiers were with them!

"Everybody in formation!" shouted Edmund at that moment. "Protect the High King!"

At the same time, Carron barked commands at the fauns, who had their bows at the ready. "Everybody, arrows on the string ... and ... fire!"

"Peter, get out of here!" Edmund's voice was clearly audible above the battle noise.

Peter very nearly told his brother off that very instant for asking him to flee, but then he remembered in what function he had come.

Bugger Edmund's orders, he thought, though. By Aslan's mane, I shall fight like the rest of them!

The arrows rained down on the men, but too many were still on their feet, still coming at them. Peter realised that at least they didn't have any archers on their side, which gave the Narnians a certain advantage, because it meant that their foes were only capable of close combat.

Only moments later, their advantage of having bows at their disposal was no longer relevant, for the first of their foes had reached them, and everybody had to get their swords out. When Peter drew Rhindon from its sheath, his peripheral vision caught sight of the eagle Skygrace flying above their heads, no doubt already on the way to get the rest of the party who had stayed behind, several miles into the forest, setting up another camp. It would take the centaurs about twenty minutes to reach them, and if they carried the smaller, short-legged soldiers, such as dwarfs, fauns and satyrs, the whole army might make it in time to help.

The High King, however, had no time to dwell on those thoughts; several men were ready to attack him at that very moment. Peter still had the advantage of sitting on horseback. He fended two off successfully, but killed neither. Their companions, however, were run through by Castor's sword. From then on, the centaur kept right next to him; Peter was sure that Castor had received special orders from Edmund to protect the High King above all others.

It would fit the little prat to have him guarded so thoroughly – and, although somewhat annoyed by now, there was little Peter could do about it. He was king, yes, but according to Edmund's orders he held no military rank on this mission, meaning that if he ordered the soldiers to concentrate on protecting his brother instead of himself, his orders might remain unheard.

It was a good thing that Edmund was quite able to fend for himself. The Just King, now no longer on horseback, was fighting against two men, while Philip, rising forcefully to his hindlegs, fended off two more. Peter noticed that his brother had acquired a second sword from somewhere and was whirling both weapons through the air with a skill Peter himself did not possess. He had tried, but lacked the level of control in his left arm that fighting with two swords required – at least if one did not wish to cut one's own head off.

No, the High King had always fared better to use his shield as a weapon to complement his sword. All in all, he had always had a different fighting style than his brother, for he might not be quite as quick and as lithe as Edmund, but he possessed a higher amount of physical strength. However, as he fought this time, Peter was soon reminded by his body that he had been very ill not too long ago, and was still on mend. He sword arm began to feel heavy and sweat ran into his eyes, disturbing his vision. He felt his hands getting slick with sweat, too.

A whinny that turned into something of a whimper told Peter that Adel had just been run through, and he quickly yanked his feet out of the stirrups and jumped down before Adel fell, using his shield to push away the man who had killed his horse. The aggressor stumbled and fell, and Peter saw this as his chance to thrust Rhindon into the man's chest.

"Edmund – watch out!" It was Philip's voice ringing out, and Peter turned his head just in time to see his brother tripped by a man with a fallen branch. Edmund, for once, lost his footing and fell on his knees and as he did; his eyes met Peter's and they both knew that the fight was over.

It was time to admit defeat.

"Stop fighting at once, and we shall let you live!" A man came forward, no doubt the leader. He was a tall, broad person, with dark hair and dark skin, and a small golden ring was dangling from his right earlobe. "Drop your weapons!"

There was nothing for it. Peter, as everybody else in the Narnian army, glanced at Edmund, who gave a small nod; for the sake of their lives, everybody dropped their weapons.

"Get to your feet, all of you!" ordered the foreign-looking man, gruffly. "Come on, hurry! Hurry!"

Peter stood on shaky legs while the men tied his hands behind his back, none too gently. The same was done to Edmund, Castor, Carron and the remaining fauns. The cheetahs were muzzled with ropes, and one man held Philip by the reins. Peter saw that there was an arrow sticking from his flank, causing profuse bleeding. How had that happened?

"Quickly, now," said the foreign leader. "Gather the weapons and let's go." Only now Peter noticed that he spoke with an unusual accent, one that Peter hadn't heard before.

As they had everybody bound and secured, the foreign men started picking up fallen swords and arrows and bows. All the while, their leader urged them to move faster.

"Sire, I cannot move this sword – it's as if it were nailed to the ground," said one man. He was standing close by Peter's feet, and it didn't take the king long to realise that it was Rhindon the man was trying to pick up. Peter had experienced a situation like this before – it was as if the sword had its own will, and if the situation called, it would not let itself be moved by anybody but Peter himself.

The leader glared. "Then leave the cursed thing here, Ikeros! We need to get away before their reinforcements arrive."

"Very well, Lord Enzomian." The man called Ikeros nodded and gave Peter a hard shove in the back, making him stumble forward.

A few steps ahead, the leader caught Edmund by the arm and yanked him to his feet. The Just King's face was paler than usual, nearly white and looking even more so in contrast to the dark fringe that fell into his eyes, but his expression was impassive. Still holding onto Edmund's upper arm, Enzomian shook the young king roughly.

"I take it," he sneered, "that you are in command?" He must have noticed that it had been at Edmund's nodding agreement that the Narnians had dropped their weapons.

"You've guessed correctly," said Edmund. "And I daresay you shall be in trouble for holding captive the kings of Narnia." He indicated first Peter, then himself.

"Kings?" said Enzomian, snorting out a laugh as he shoved Edmund forward in an even more violent way than Peter had just been pushed by Ikeros. "How many kings does this country of Narnia have then? And move!"

They crossed the creek through a shallow ford, then walked alongside it, towards the mountains.

"Narnia is reigned by two Kings and two Queens, and you will be in much trouble if you won't let us go," Edmund insisted as he stumbled forward.

"You will give me trouble?" sneered Enzomian, laughing heartily. "A boy of what? Seventeen?"

The older man, it seemed, took great joy from pushing the young king every few minutes, and Edmund was having a hard time not falling to his knees each time. In fact, he was all in all having a very hard time of it. The men, all much older, probably much more experienced warriors, had a good time making fun of the him – never before had he endured such an amount of mockery, Peter was sure. Edmund, however, took it all in silent dignity. No more words came from him, and his expression showed nothing but impassiveness as he stumbled on, shoved forward roughly by Enzomian.

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