A/N: Just so you know, I'm straying from canon here and putting the kids ages' at 15, 14, 10 and 8 in LWW. I've heard Peter was 13 some places, but I thought that too young for what he did. So he was 15 then and is now 16 (and was during his war service… which is also unrealistic, but hey…) Also, a few reviewers thought Peter revealing his wound was premature. I agreed, so I tried to remedy it a bit here, since I didn't specifically state what Peter told them…Enjoy!

A/N 2: This chapter has been revised and a new scene has been added.

Part 5:

Peter quickly realized he might have overestimated how much jostling he could take. The constant jarring of the galloping horse beneath him had already begun to take its toll and he was wincing every few minutes or after a particularly forceful jolt.

Beside him, Caspian was casting far too many concerned glances his way and Peter knew that while had told the Prince of his injury, Caspian was undoubtedly realizing that the young High King had downplayed it.

Still, he seemed to respect that Peter would call a halt if need be. That brought a small smile to Peter's face, because he knew if it had been Edmund on that other horse – they would have already stopped and he'd be fussed over.

They continued on in silence, since conversation on galloping horses, dodging trees and jumping small obstacles, was an impossible task. It was actually Caspian that called the first halt after a few hours.

"We need to rest the horses," he said, dismounting and patting his mount's neck fondly. Both horses had already worked up a lather and Peter slid from his own, nearly losing his balance when he hit the ground and a sharp pain ripped through him. He leaned forward a bit, trying to alleviate the pain from suddenly standing -- and standing straight, at that.

When he saw Caspian staring at him, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to straighten. He had told the Prince of his injury, but he'd be damned if he was going to let on just how badly it was still paining him. It wouldn't do to let this young man think that the Kings and Queens of Old were weak or incompetent.

"Are you well?" Caspian asked, taking a step toward Peter as he spoke. The High King raised a warning hand, which stopped the Prince in his tracks.

Shaking his hair out of his face, realizing that he'd have to get it cut soon, Peter said quickly, "I'm fine. A bit sore. It's been a while since I've had a chance to ride. Perhaps galloping so long was a bit premature on my part."

Momentarily satisfied, Caspian gestured to the nearby stream and suggested watering the horses and eating a bit for lunch. Peter agreed wholeheartedly, never one to pass up a meal, however meager, and the two young men sat to eat.

Peter make short work of his bread and fruit and leaned back against a large tree root protruding a few feet up from the ground. It was so quiet; at times he still felt hard-pressed to believe this was Narnia. He sighed at the memories that came unbidden to his mind.

Caspian watched silently as the High King lost himself in his thoughts, but he was curious, and since Narnia during the High King's reign was one of his favorite subjects, he decided to try and engage the King into telling some tales of old.

"King Peter," he said, drawing the blonde's attention. "If you would not mind, I know very little of the Narnia of your time. Could you tell me some stories from when you and your royal sisters and brother were ruling?"

Peter sat up a bit straighter at that. "I suppose I could, we can't push the horses too soon and have some time to kill." He hesitated. "What do you want to hear? Everyday life or some of our campaigns?"

Caspian thought for a moment before answering, "Everyday life."

For a moment, Peter was taken aback, not having expected that answer. But he regained control of himself and leaned back again, returning his gaze to the treetops above them.

"You've probably heard that my brother and sisters and I were relatively young when we took the thrones at Cair Paravel," he said. "As such, we weren't quite ready for all things that the rule of a nation required. Like some of the tedious complaints in everyday court…"

"Edmund, you are not going to abandon me to listen to this, this…argh…craziness on my own!?" Peter chased his brother down the corridor just outside the throne room, his steps echoing down the length of the hall. Being quite a bit taller still, he was able to catch Edmund by the back of his cloak and drag him to a halt.

"But Peter, you're the High King. They don't need me to help with this situation, I'm sure you can figure it out on your own." Edmund's face was contorted as he tried to hold in the laugh that was threatening to erupt any second now at the complaint the court had been called upon to resolve. "I mean, come on Pete, how hard can it be to solve the problem?

"Mr. Nartse the Squirrel said that tree spirit Elena has been attacking him most fiercely for picking nuts from her tree. All you have to do is convince Elena that Nartse needs to eat and Nartse that he'll need to make some sort of payment to her for helping him. See, simple."

Peter put his hands on his hips. "Simple? You call that simple? I have to mediate between a tree and a squirrel, Edmund. Come on, you're the Just one, you need to help me!"

His brother shook his head. "Nope. I'm supposed to meet Oreius in the training field this afternoon. And, oh look at that, its 10 minutes after noon, if I'm reading that sun right…so… sorry."

Peter growled as his brother turned and literally ran off.

"Brat," he muttered to himself, storming back down the hallway and pausing in front of the door to the throne room. He took a moment to compose himself, since it wouldn't do for his subjects to think he was angry or annoyed with them. Once he felt he had control of his expression, he entered the room and moved to where Elena the tree spirit, who had taken something near to the form of a humanoid for this occasion, and Nartse the squirrel were waiting below the dais that held his and his siblings' thrones. Elena ruffled and her leaves rearranged themselves as Peter sat calmly in his throne.

"All right," he said. "I've heard both of your arguments and I have a few suggestions for you. Nartse, you need the nuts off Elena's tree to survive as there are no other nut-bearing trees in your area, correct?"

The squirrel nodded and glared, if a squirrel can glare, at Elena, who ruffled again in response. Peter sighed and continued, "And Elena, you said it pains your tree, and by association you, when Nartse picks your nuts. Correct?"

Elena's leaves shifted and she bowed. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Peter laid his hands on the sides of his throne and attempted a regal look. He didn't know if he succeeded, but he pressed on. "I suggest that, Elena, you allow Nartse to take what he needs to survive, and no more, but with the understanding that he make amends to you for the discomfort his foraging causes."

Elena ruffled angrily. "Why should I suffer for his needs? Why can't I live in peace and comfort?" She quickly added, "My liege."

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling a headache start. "Because, dear tree spirit, if Nartse does not eat, he too will be in discomfort. Now, I could ask him to move and find another tree, but I'll be here again later with yet another tree spirit." He looked up at Elena. "Is there nothing that bothers you on a regular basis, besides Nartse?"

Elena paused. "Bugs."

Peter looked up at that. "Bugs, you say?"

He turned to Nartse. "And you, Sir Squirrel, could you perhaps catch bugs?"

He saw Elena ruffle in interest out of the corner of his eye. Nartse's eyes darted between his King and the tree spirit next to him and nodded. "I can, I'm quick, I am."

Peter smiled finally and gestured to Nartse. "Then it is my decree that you, as payment for taking nuts and for causing discomfort to Elena and her tree, groom her tree as best you can and rid her of those bugs that bother her." He looked to Elena. "In addition, Nartse will be allowed to gather any nuts that fall naturally from your tree, Elena. That way, you both get what you need. Any arguments against this decision?"

Nartse shook his head quickly and then looked to the tree spirit. Elena was slower to accept, but her leaves ruffled and she "nodded". "I am agreeable to this, Your Majesty. It will be most welcome to be rid of some of those leaf-eating bugs."

As the two left the throne room, Peter slumped down in his throne and shook his head. "I never thought I'd have to mediate between a tree and a squirrel. Never."

His head snapped up as Susan and Lucy tumbled into the throne room. "Ed told us you were settling a dispute that would have caused a mini-war if you didn't solve it," Lucy chirped. "Oh what was it, Peter? Tell me!"

She leapt into his lap and he caught her so she didn't tumble back off. "He told you that, did he?" Peter said with a small smile. "Well, it might have led to a war where nuts and leaves and perhaps pebbles were the weapons of choice, but I don't think that's what you were thinking, Lu."

The young girl frowned. "What do you mean, Peter? Nuts, leaves, and pebbles? What kind of weapons are those?"

Peter laughed. "The kind a tree spirit and a squirrel might fight with?"

"No!" Lucy cried. "You mean…you had to…why?"

Peter regaled his sisters with the tale of the squirrel and the tree spirit who fought over nuts as the three of them headed down to the field where Edmund and Oreius were training.

Ed looked up at his brother's approach. "So, Peter, how did it go? Will we need to protect a poor little squirrel from being stomped by a tree spirit?"

Peter shook his head and very solemnly, holding a straight face with difficulty, stated, "No, I've taken care of it, Ed. We reached an agreement that was mutually beneficial and lacking in anything remotely violent."

His brother raised his eyebrows at that. "Okay, Pete. Glad to hear…wasn't too hard was it?"

The older Pevensie thought for a moment, but then stuck his tongue out at his brother. "No it wasn't. But since you made me do that one alone, you get to tackle the next one. This afternoon we're hearing a dispute between a water spirit and a leopard. See, the leopard bathes in the water spirit's stream and the water spirit isn't too happy about all the dirt the leopard leaves behind."

Edmund's eyes widened and he gulped. "Oh, well, yes, I'm sure I'll think of something."

"Oh yes, all alone too," Peter replied with a laugh.

"It wasn't unusual to settle disputes like that. As the years passed, we began to realize that they were far more serious than we had thought as children. But still, sometimes you just didn't understand what the big deal was, you just had to resolve the problem."

Caspian was chuckling. "I cannot imagine a tree spirit as you described," he said. "You say she was made up of leaves? What held them together?" He shook his head. "I cannot picture this being. And it is so fantastical to imagine that simply picking nuts could be painful to the tree."

Peter looked down from the treetops and met Caspian's gaze. "If only you could see the Narnia we knew, Caspian. I remember the first time I met a tree spirit. She brought word from Lucy and Susan that Aslan had been killed on the Stone Table."

Mention of that legendary event immediately drew Caspian's attention, and Peter could tell that the Prince wanted to hear that story. "I was asleep in the tent and felt something, a breeze really, caress my cheek. When I opened my eyes, and mind you I was very groggy, I saw a mass of pink leaves swirling around beside my pallet.

"My first response – draw my sword, which I did. Thinking back on it now, I really don't see how much use that sword would have been against a tree spirit. It wasn't like I could use it against her, you know. But it was startling, that's for sure. Perhaps when this is over, the tree spirits will return to Narnia."

Caspian sighed. "I hope so, King Peter."

Peter looked over at the horses grazing nearby. "They look rested enough. I think we should press on. Something feels off about the forest here. Sort of like the feeling I got when we happened upon you and the Narnians. I feel as if we are not alone."

Caspian's hand fell to his sword at Peter's words. "Then yes, let us go," he said hastily, watching with narrowed eyes as the High King struggled to his feet. Peter was good at hiding it, but Caspian was no stranger to injury and he knew there was more to Peter's wound than he had let on.

The Prince remembered what Peter had said to explain his injury, but was rapidly realizing Peter hadn't told him everything. He said he'd been shot with something, not an arrow, but it penetrated like one might expect an arrow to do. The weapon had gotten stuck inside him and healers had needed to find it and take it out.

It was all rather foreign to Caspian, but Peter had further explained that now he was left with something similar to a sword slash to the torso and abdomen, which he did understand. But the wound was months old. So why was the High King still ailing so badly?

Leaping into his saddle, Caspian waited as Peter, again using a rock formation, climbed atop Realeza. He would ask him later to explain more. While he expected Peter had wanted to downplay the wound to fuel hope from his return, Caspian needed to know if he could count on the King to watch his back effectively in a fight.

They nudged the two horses into a canter and set off toward Cair Paravel once more. The feeling of foreboding only increased as they continued on, much to their chagrin.

Peter was about to signal to Caspian to stop again, since he was starting to really struggle with his pain, when an arrow whizzed by his head and he tugged hard on Realeza's reins in response. The horse reared up and Peter was hard-pressed to remain mounted.

"King Peter," Caspian called out, cantering around to return to Peter's side just as more arrows rained toward the two young men. Realizing the arrows were coming from more than one direction – perhaps even all four directions – Peter surmised they would be safer on the ground.

Pushing aside the pain of his wound, he jumped from the horse and drew the sword he had borrowed. Caspian followed his lead and the two urged the horses to leave. They would hopefully not be targets.

Taking cover behind the nearest trees, which soon looked like archery targets, Peter and Caspian exchanged glances. They could hear more than one person crashing through the woods toward them.

As the sounds drew near, Peter and Caspian nodded to each other and as one spun from behind the trees, swords flashing. They were obviously outnumbered, but the Telmarine soldiers attacking them had not expected such fierce resistance and reeled back at the intensity of Peter and Caspian's attacks.

Arrows continued to sporadically enter the small clearing, but it was evident that the archers feared hitting their own men while they were engaged in dueling, so they were only taking occasional shots.

While he was busy fighting off his own men, Peter noticed that Caspian was an experienced fighter. Of that he was immensely glad, as the fight was wearing on him already. He cursed that he had hidden the full extent of his wound from Caspian now and could only hope the young prince would see if he needed more help.

Caspian had indeed noticed the struggle, but was inwardly thinking that if this was Peter being "of little use," than he didn't want to be a Telmarine facing Peter at his best.

The Telmarines soon found their numbers nearly decimated and the remaining soldiers exchanged glances before retreating into the woods. This gave the archers the opportunity to begin firing again.

Not knowing who Peter was, the soldiers' obvious target was Caspian. With a look toward Peter, the two silently agreed and ran in the direction their horses had trotted.

They saw their mounts in the distance, glad for loyal horses. As they drew near, they heard the archers crashing through the woods once again in pursuit of them.

Peter thought he'd be able to mount Realeza, but quickly found nothing to give him a leg up. He yelped when Caspian appeared at his side and held out his hands. "Don't argue, my liege, get up!"

The High King wasted no time and used the prince's clasped hands like a stirrup, dragging himself onto the horse. He stowed the sword in its sheath as Caspian sprinted to his horse.

Before the dark-haired man could mount, he was knocked to the ground by a well-placed arrow to the shoulder. The shock of suddenly smashing into the ground knocked the wind out of Caspian for a moment, but the nearing archers jolted him back and he scrambled to his feet.

One-handedly grabbing the reins, he vaulted onto the now moving horse and, ignoring the horrible pain from the arrow wound, he galloped alongside Peter. Arrows still rained from behind them, but because they had taken out so many of their attackers, they were few and far between and gradually lessened to none.

They rode hard, knowing another fight would surely turn against them. The horses were in a lather and starting to ail, but they couldn't afford to stop and both young men urged the horses to hold on just a little longer.

Finally, Peter felt they had gone far enough and he could see Caspian was starting to sway dangerously from the loss of blood. The High King slowed Realeza and Caspian slowed in response. Seeing a particularly dangerous sway, Peter grabbed the reins from Caspian and drew both horses to a halt.

He cringed at the arrow Caspian was grasping tightly and realized he had to get it treated quickly. "Come on, I'll help you down over here," he panted, trying to catch his breath and calm his racing heart.

The High King nudged the horses over to a fallen tree and used it to dismount. He helped Caspian slide down the few feet to the tree as well, catching him when he wobbled unsteadily.

The exhausted young men sat beside the horses and Peter dug into the saddlebags on Caspian's mount, searching for bandages. He found a large clump and returned to the prince's side.

Caspian's face was tight, but he was silent as Peter helped him strip off his leather tunic and his shirt, and felt around the arrow shaft, gauging how deeply it had gone. It was further in than he had hoped to find and he frowned.

"I'm going to have to push it through," he said quietly. "I'll just do more damage if I drag the arrowhead back through. Here…" he cut a piece of the leather belt that held the sword to his waist and handed it to Caspian. "So you don't bite your tongue."

Caspian hesitantly reached out and grasped it, grimacing. But he did as he was instructed and leaned forward when Peter asked him to. The High King positioned himself in front of Caspian and slung his left arm around the young prince's right shoulder and across his back to where the arrow would come out. With his right hand, Peter grasped the bit of arrow shaft sticking out. It only needed to be pushed an inch or so, so he had little fear it would break off inside.

Taking a deep breath, Peter said, "Ready?" Caspian nodded, his head lowered near Peter's right shoulder. Peter didn't answer, but counted to four in his head and pushed hard.

Caspian's pained cry was cut off by the leather, but the jerk was barely restrained and Peter, who knew too well the pain his new friend must be in, hurriedly snapped the arrow head off behind Caspian and then swiftly pulled the shaft out the front of the prince. He quickly dropped both pieces and applied firm pressure to both the front and back wounds, drawing a grunt from the young man he was effectively hugging to do so.

"Easy," he said. "I think you'll be all right. We just have to stop the bleeding. And now we have even more reason to find Lucy's cordial." He kept hold of the wounds until he was satisfied the bleeding had slowed. Then he proceeded to firmly wrap strips of bandage until the wound was bound tightly. Caspian was leaning somewhat heavily on Peter now, and the High King was loath to force him to move, but they couldn't linger too long. Knowing there were enemies in the woods behind them, it would be unwise to remain anywhere too long.

"Can you ride?" Peter asked the Prince.

Caspian looked up at Peter with glassy eyes and nodded slowly. "I think so. But not fast."

He moved to stand up, but found he had no energy with which to do so. Peter levered him to his feet, steadfastly ignoring the growing pain of his own old wound. He found himself growing angry that he wasn't healing faster. It had been so long since it happened and yet it lingered. His legs were trembling again from the riding, running and fighting. This was the first time in a long time he had done anything strenuous. Now he was fully able to understand just how weak he still was.

Caspian was in too much pain himself to notice that Peter was having difficulty guiding him straight. The prince eyed the horse, suddenly realizing how high the back of his mount really was and let out a shaky breath.

Peter steadied him as he gingerly climbed into the saddle. Then the High King wearily lifted himself onto Realeza's back and they started off again, each wincing as the horses' gaits jostled them around.

"What a fine pair we make," Peter quipped tiredly. "By the time we get to Cair Paravel, we'll be crawling, I think."

Caspian grinned lightly. "I could not agree more, King Peter."

They rode in silence, ever wary of another attack, occasionally resting and giving the horses time to recover. It was still at least a day until Cair Paravel. And it was sure to be a long day, no matter what they did or didn't run into.

The column of Narnians hadn't gotten very far when a Talking Dog approached Edmund and Nikabrik where they were talking in low tones with Glenstorm near the head of the rag-tag group. Glancing from one to the other, the Dog finally addressed the younger boy.

"King Edmund?" he said, waiting for the young King to acknowledge him. When Edmund nodded for him to go on, falling easily into his former role, the Dog continued. "My pack and I have heard jeering from where the rivers meet, my liege," he said. "The accents are Telmarine and they sound like they are taunting a Narnian."

Glenstorm looked to Edmund, waiting for the King's response.

Susan and Lucy had drawn up beside their brother and the centaur, Trufflehunter a little behind them listening intently. With a quick glance to Susan, Edmund turned to the Talking Dog.

"Can you lead us to the area? If there is a Narnian in trouble, we will not leave him or her to torment," he said. Gesturing to his sisters, Nikabrik and Glenstorm to follow, he turned to the nearest Faun. "We will halt here for a rest. I will be taking these few with me to help a friend in need."

The Faun bowed and moved off to spread the word.

Edmund commandeered a set of swords from two resting Fauns and the small group tailed the Talking Dog through the woods in the direction of the river. As they advanced, voices began to carry over the wind.

"If it disturbs you so much, stop looking at it," came an accented male voice.

A short pause, and then, "Well switch places with me then and I wouldn't have to look at the beastly thing!"

There were laughs from slightly closer and scowling, Edmund held up a hand to stop the group from advancing. He inched closer to Susan and whispered, "I'm going to get a closer look, see what we're up against."

She nodded, throwing in a "be careful" for good measure.

Casting a quick glance to Nikabrik and Glenstorm, Edmund spun around and crept through the brush, disappearing from view. The voices continued to grow in volume and soon he could connect them to the men that owned them.

On shore, stood three Telmarine soldiers, jeering at something in the river. Following their gazes, Edmund saw two more Telmarines and what looked to be a light-haired dwarf – though the dirt made it hard to tell if his hair was actually light or if Edmund was imagining things.

He was trussed up tightly and gagged, but was glaring quite effectively at the two men in the small skiff with him. They had rowed out nearly to the center of where the Beruna and Rush rivers met, a deep enough spot for a successful drowning. Their obvious intention.

Creeping back again, Edmund rejoined the others.

"I believe we may have located the missing Trumpkin," he whispered. "Susan, there are two in the boat with him, and there are three on the shore. Nikabrik, you and Glenstorm and I can handle the three on shore and Susan's arrows can take the two in the boat. Lu, you stay here."

Lucy fidgeted beside him, a little put out by her brother passing over her, but she nodded. As the others moved off silently through the brush, she watched their progress until she couldn't stand it any longer. Finally, she moved after them, pausing at the edge of the forest, but remaining concealed.

She watched as Susan stepped through the bushes, an arrow notched to her borrowed bow. Seeing the men had lifted Trumpkin and had him poised over the side, Susan shouted out, "Drop him!" as Edmund, Nikabrik, and Glenstorm lunged past her and laid into the three shocked Telmarines on the shore.

Together they made short work of the men and turned just in time to see the men in the boat release their hold on Trumpkin and the dwarf's eyes widen as he plunged beneath the surface of the river. Lucy burst out of the trees and ran to her sister's side.

Susan's arrows flew past Edmund and impacted with the two Telmarines in the boat as the young King tossed aside his swords and dove without hesitation into the swirling waters of the river, powerful strokes taking him toward where the dwarf had last been seen.

Gulping in a deep breath, he disappeared under the surface and for long seconds did not reappear. Susan and Lucy were standing anxiously at the edge of the river, while Nikabrik and Glenstorm were eying their surroundings in case more Telmarines showed up.

There was a collective sigh of relief when Edmund broke the surface with a very still dwarf in his grasp. Struggling, the young King managed to get himself and Trumpkin to shore and was silently thankful when Glenstorm took hold of the dwarf and pulled him further ashore as soon as they were within his grasp.

Lucy surged forward, dropping to her knees beside the Narnian, her small hands trying to untangle the wet ropes with no success. Looking around, she spotted a knife on Nikabrik's belt and gestured for him to hand it to her. Once she had the dwarf's knife in hand, she was able to cut through Trumpkin's bonds like butter. Trumpkin's eyes were closed and he didn't appear to be breathing.

The young Queen frowned before tipping him to the side and forcefully thumping his back. It only took a few blows before he coughed loudly and expelled water, drawing in deep shuddering breaths and slowly opening his eyes.

Lucy smiled down at him. "Are you all right?" she asked quietly, helping him to sit up as he shook his head a little in confusion, taking in the sight of the young boy, the two girls, Nikabrik and the centaur. His gaze finally focused on Susan.

"Drop him?" he gasped. "Couldn't of thought of anything else to say, could you?"

The young girl's jaw nearly dropped, but she held her composure and squared her shoulders. "You could just say thank you, you know," she said mildly, fingering her bow. "We could have just left you to your fate."

Glenstorm chimed in, "And perhaps you ought to ask to whom you are speaking before actually speaking, young Dwarf," he said with a small smile flitting across his lips.

Trumpkin's eyes narrowed. "I know you and Nikabrik, Glenstorm. But I've never seen any of you before."

With a small smile, Edmund spoke. "I'm Edmund. These are my sisters, Susan and Lucy."

The dwarf's eyes widened as he took in the names of the three humans.

"K…King Edmund the Just? And Queens Susan the Gentle and Lucy the Valiant?" he asked faintly. "Oh that horn did work then? Forgive me, but I had no idea. I thought you'd be … older …"

Lucy chuckled. "No, I'm afraid you'll just have to be satisfied with us the way we are, Trumpkin," she said. "Now let's get you up and perhaps get you a little something drier to wear?"

He nodded and allowed her to help him to his feet.

The group slowly moved back into the woods to reunite with the column of waiting Narnians.

A/N: Well, there was some more action. I hope you liked it. And I hope I've made it a bit more realistic about Peter's wound. So now Caspian knows the gist of it, but not the extent. He is obviously suspicious that it is worse than he was told…does that seem a bit better to you all?? Lemme know…please?