A/N: Thank you to all who wished my daughter well. As it turns out, the results of her CT scan came back and she does have some extra fluid around the brain. We are awaiting more information. That said, I want to thank my old beta, phoenixqueen, who has come back to help me bounce around ideas to make this a better story and take my mind off my Evie's diagnosis. Now, on with the story!

A/N 2: This chapter has been revised…scenes have been altered slightly.

Part Eight:

"Oh, Susan, Edmund, look at this!" Lucy was waving excitedly from a nearby alcove, nearly jumping up and down as she did so. "It's beautiful, and I think its Aslan and Mr. Tumnus!"

Susan and Edmund hurried over, each carrying a torch, and the alcove was soon brightly lit. The three siblings gazed at the beautiful wall painting that depicted Aslan, a faun that resembled Mr. Tumnus, and a beautiful sword.

"I don't remember this ever happening," Edmund said. "I wonder what it means." He moved closer to the wall, holding his torch close to it. "Wait! That looks like Peter's sword!"

Lucy and Susan crowded around him. They studied the sword that the faun was reverently holding laid across his palms. It did indeed look like the sword of the High King. "I don't get it," Lucy said with a frown. "Why would Aslan give the sword to Mr. Tumnus? Did he rule when we left, perhaps?"

Her siblings shrugged. "Is there another painting? Might the story continue?" Edmund asked.

Lucy turned around and pointed to her right. "I didn't go that way yet, maybe down there?"

Nodding, Susan led the way, her torch casting a soft glow on the walls as she went. There were paintings in sight, but they appeared to have nothing to do with the mysterious image of Tumnus and Aslan.

She was about to give up when she drew abreast of another painting, this one of just Mr. Tumnus holding a sword reverently across his palms and leaning down to a chest of sorts.

Moving closer, she suddenly yelped in pain and grabbed her foot, rubbing her toes to dispel the pain.

She had smacked into an outcropping of stone below the painting, only a foot or so up off the tunnel floor. The light from the torch hadn't revealed it when she had held it up to the painting.

"I wonder what that is," she said, pointing to it as she dropped to one knee beside it and gestured for Edmund to bring more light.

The boy moved up and held out his light. There appeared to be a lid and a base section of stone and he held out his torch to Susan, who took it from his hand, still ruefully rubbing her foot, and watched as Edmund began pushing against the heavy stone lid to what looked to be a chest carved right into the stone wall and floor.

The lid wouldn't budge.

"Well that's odd," the boy muttered, sitting back on his heels and peering at the lid that wouldn't shift even a fraction from where it was seated. He looked to Susan, who was staring at the lid closely.

The older girl suddenly moved the torch in her hand closer and the three siblings spied a familiar symbol etched roughly into the top of the stone lid, outlined by a crevice in the shape of a circle.

Lucy gasped. "Our seal!"

All three of them remembered the signet rings they had once worn with the beautiful symbol depicting the gifts from Father Christmas and Jadis' broken wand. "Wonder what that's there for?" Lucy said, reaching forward to run her fingers over the seal.

She jerked back when the portion of stone the seal adorned sank into the lid a little and there was a whoosh as what must have been trapped air escaped from under the lid.

Edmund exchanged glances with his sisters before once again pushing against the large stone. This time, it did move.

It crashed to the ground and he bent forward as his sisters shined the lights inside.

Lucy and Susan leaned in over his shoulders. Upon seeing the contents of the crevice, the three gasped in surprise and exchanged shocked glances.

Deep in the woods beyond Cair Paravel…

"This is about where we fought those soldiers," Caspian remarked, gesturing to where plants had been trampled and tracks had been left. "Since there are no bodies here, there may be more Telmarine soldiers in the area."

Peter nodded. "We should be on the lookout then," he said. The day was getting hotter and the young High King was finding his armor to be quite a burden, where normally he was glad of it. Of course normally he didn't go around wearing said armor as a way of transporting it.

Every so often he felt a small twinge in his back or legs. He hoped it was simply the cordial finding stray damage to heal. The pain had caught him completely off guard and he was eager to speak to Lucy about it. Perhaps she had encountered someone else who had reacted similarly.

"King Peter," Caspian said, interrupting the latter's thoughts. "If I may be so bold, could you tell me more about your time as High King? When you tell the stories, you give them so much more life."

Peter chuckled. "Yes, well, I guess my siblings and I would have a slightly different view of things than the history books. Was there something in particular you wished to hear?"

Caspian looked unsure of himself, but he did speak finally. "I was hoping to hear of the campaign against the giants in Ettinsmoor. The few remaining tales say it was a difficult campaign and I wondered if hearing of it could help prepare me for what we are going to go through. Though, I realize hearing and living are totally different things."

His companion's eyes clouded, but only for a moment. "I can tell you of the campaign, Caspian, but for some of it I was very much unconscious. You see, at one point, the giants claimed they wished to treat with us. It was, of course, not so. But we were so hoping for peace, we went off to meet them and were ambushed."

Caspian frowned. "I had not heard this. Little is written or remembered of that campaign, I'm afraid. Almost everything was lost when Narnia was overwhelmed. But that sounds like a painful memory, perhaps I should chose another?"

With a small wave, Peter shook his head. "No, I've learned recently it is better to face these memories head on than to hide them away to eat away at me. There is strength in facing painful things."

Settling more comfortably on the horse, Peter began the tale.

The letter had come in the morning. Barely legible, it had asked for a chance to speak with the High King and his general before waging battle. It was highly unusual for the giants of Ettinsmoor to want to talk, not fight, but if it meant no more bloodshed, Peter was willing to give it a try.

Edmund wasn't so sure.

"Peter I really don't think you should go!" He jogged to catch up to his brother, who was already dressed in his mail and armor and about to mount his horse, a stallion of the deepest black. "Peter, please stop!"

His older brother did stop at Edmund's plea and turned around to face him. "Ed, I have to give it a chance. If it is true and they do want to treat, we might be able to save many, many lives."

Edmund was shaking his head. "I have a really bad feeling about this, Pete. I don't want you to go. This just seems so … so unusual and I don't want you to go!" He was babbling now, something he had rarely been caught doing since the Pevensies had taken the thrones at Cair Paravel a few years ago.

The odd behavior was enough to really make Peter pause. "What do you think is going to happen, Ed?" his brother asked, turning fully to meet his brother's gaze and letting his arms fold across his chest.

On the spot now, Ed frowned. "I just think they want to lure you away so they can attack us, Peter. Without you here, they must believe they can rout us since the army rallies behind the High King."

His brother pursed his lips. "It's a possibility, Ed. But honestly, do you really think I can let the chance of peace without battle go? I wouldn't be a very good king if I didn't take a chance now and then to try and avoid fighting."

Edmund let out an exasperated breath. "Fine. But don't you dare get yourself killed, oh mighty High King Peter. Because if you do I'll have to revive you and kill you again myself."

Peter laughed out loud and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "I'll come back, Ed. Don't I always?"

As he mounted the horse and rode to join Oreius, a few other centaurs and the strongest of the fauns, Edmund muttered. "You do Peter, but not always in such great shape…"

He turned and set off to find the centaur commander that would be remaining with him and the bulk of the Narnian troops.

Peter, though he didn't show it to his brother, was just as antsy about this supposed "treat" as Edmund was -- only he knew he couldn't just ignore it like his feelings were telling him to do.

"Oreius, do you think this is an attempt to lure us away so they can attack the main force?" Peter asked a short time later as they rode side by side toward the meeting place set out in the giants' letter.

The centaur general frowned. "I don't know. It could be either that or an attempt to ambush us."

Peter cringed. He hadn't really thought about that. Perhaps the giants weren't smart enough to think of it either and that somewhat comforted him. But the comfort didn't last long.

One moment Peter was seated atop his stallion, riding beside Oreius; the next he was flat on his back with a spear through his upper chest, just below his shoulder, pinning him to the ground. It was nothing short of agony when he tried to move, so he quickly decided that was a bad idea.

"King Peter!"

Oreius moved to stand guard over his fallen liege, as the fauns and remaining troops jumped toward the attacking giants. Peter, gasping in pain, managed to address Oreius. "I guess…y…you were…right."

The centaur chanced a glance at his king and cringed at the blood rapidly spreading out beneath the young king's shoulder, seeping through the green grass. Peter was clutching the spear and trying to regulate his breathing.

Oreius called out to the nearest faun. "Claris! I need you here!"

The faun in question nodded and withdrew from the battle. "Yes, General?" He eyed the ailing king with trepidation.

"You must remove the spear and we must get His Majesty back to the encampment. This is no place to treat his wound," the centaur general said, swiping viciously at an approaching giant that had the misfortune of getting within range of his double blades.

"R…remove it?" Claris stuttered, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "I…I…that will hurt. A lot."

Peter grasped at the faun's shin, since it was the only thing he could readily reach. "Please," he gasped, knowing this was serious and he would bleed out if he didn't get medical attention.

Claris' eyes widened, but they also hardened along with his resolve. "Yes, sir, I'll take care of it, General Oreius," he said, kneeling beside the eighteen-year-old High King. "Sire, I suggest you bite on this --" he handed Peter a piece of leather that he cut from his sword belt. "You'll want to keep that tongue, I expect."

Peter couldn't laugh, but he could appreciate Claris' attempt to remain upbeat despite the gravity of the situation. He cringed though when Claris ducked suddenly and an arrow whizzed over his head.

"You must hurry, Claris," Oreius grunted, running a giant through with his right sword, and slashing another giant across the thighs with his other. "They are going to overwhelm us soon."

Letting out a long huff of breath, Claris reached forward and got a good, firm grasp on the spear handle, taking hold of it just above where Peter's death grip clutched it. He met the king's eyes and then looked down at his hands pointedly.

Shaking, Peter removed his own hands from the spear and brought them to clutch at the ground beside him. With a short nod of satisfaction, Claris readjusted his stance and before giving the High King any warning, pulled sharply upward on the spear, dislodging it from the ground and the young man.

The scream made all the combatants jump in surprise and Oreius stamp his foreleg angrily on the floor as he knocked a giant to the ground before beheading it in anger. Peter tried to curl in on himself, but Claris' hands were putting pressure on the bleeding wound and preventing him from doing so.

Seeing his chance, Oreius swung hard at the giant currently engaging him, and then turned hurriedly to Claris. "Get him up on my back and I'll carry him back with haste," the general said. It was unusual for a centaur to carry a being on his back and Claris' eyes were wide as he scooped King Peter up under the shoulders and behind the knees like a small child.

The cry was weaker this time, but still hardened both Claris and Oreius' resolve, not to mention bolstered the ferocity the other Narnian guard fought with. There were casualties already, three fauns, a leopard and a centaur. They only hoped their High King didn't join that number.

Seeing the young man in question beginning to lose his battle to remain conscious, Claris frowned. "General, he isn't going to be able to hang on…"

Oreius grabbed a length of rope on his left and tossed it at the faun. "Lash him on, then," he said, chancing another glance at the young High King and for a moment seeing the face of his brother, younger still, staring up at him in pain from a ravine he had fallen into and broken his leg – the shattered bone tearing through the skin and gleaming in the waning sunlight.

It was why Oreius always carried a length of rope now, because that time Edmund had been stranded for hours, in pain and losing blood, before they could backtrack and descend the ravine. It would never happen again on his watch.

Shaking off his reverie, he surprised Claris again when he bent his forelegs and lowered himself close to the ground. It was a vulnerable position for the general and a giant saw this and took advantage of it.

An arrow flew at them from behind Claris and Peter and hit Oreius high up on his left shoulder. He grunted and jerked forward at the impact, but gritted his teeth and urged the faun to go on. "Hurry!" he gasped.

Claris placed Peter astride Oreius' back, but before moving to lash the King to the centaur's back, he reached up while the general was kneeling and with a quick, abrupt motion, seized the arrow shaft and yanked it back out of the wound.

Oreius yelled in surprise and cursed the smaller faun viciously as Claris took the rope and began winding it around both Peter and the centaur, careful to avoid the wounds.

Peter was soon situated so that he was sitting astride Oreius' back, right behind his torso. The centaur grabbed the King's arms and wrapped them around his middle, using a little force when Peter tried to pull them back to relieve the pain in his upper chest. Fiery pain zipped through the general's shoulder, but he pushed it aside knowing his King's life depended on him.

Rising, he made sure Peter felt secure and then took off.

While he ran, Oreius frowned as he felt the blood sliding down his back and sides to fall to the ground. It was far too much and he had no idea if King Peter was even conscious anymore.

The answer came to him when he jumped over a small rock formation and his charge let out a gut-wrenching scream – surprisingly loud for one in his condition, actually. "I'm sorry, my liege," Oreius muttered, gripping the arms in his hands tighter in apology.

He almost smiled when he felt a muttered "S'ok" against his shoulder, where Peter's head was wearily resting.

"Hold on a little longer, Sire, and I'll have you to the healers and your brother."

There was no response, but he felt the warm breath on his shoulder and took comfort in that. A few moments later, he heard a weak voice chime in again. "You…hurt?"

Oreius gathered Peter was feeling the blood running down his own back from the arrow wound. "It's nothing, King Peter. A mere scratch. Don't try to talk, you need to conserve your strength."

Galloping as fast as he dared with the wounded King on his back and with his own stinging and painful injuries, Oreius soon came close enough to the encampment to draw the attention of the watch.

"The general approaches," rang out from the nearest and echoed through the camp.

Oreius could see a lone figure burst from a tent, dressed in a red tunic with an embossed golden lion and silver armor. King Edmund. As he drew nearer, he could see the young King's eyes lock on his charge and widen to impossible size.

There was a clear shout of "Peter!" before King Edmund started running toward them. Oreius pushed out a bit more speed and met the younger King before he'd moved too far from the tents. He skidded to a halt before the Just King, breathing quickly and harshly from the exertion.

"My…My King, your brother, he is badly injured. You'll have to get him down from there," he panted, not yet relinquishing his grip on the High King's arms.

He heard a quiet "Ed?" from behind him and cringed, realizing Peter was still conscious. Oreius knelt again so that the younger King could reach the wounded form of the High King. Edmund wasted no time in cutting the rope that was holding his brother on the centaur. Peter was heavy with all the armor, but Edmund bore his weight anyway, knees straining to hold the extra.

"Peter?" he whispered, eyes wide as he took in the bloody mess his brother was in. Peter's eyes fluttered open, but remained glassy and unfocused. He spoke so quietly that Edmund had to lean close to hear him.

"You 'ere right, Ed," he slurred. "S'rry."

Strength spent, Peter's head fell heavily onto his brother's shoulder and Edmund nearly bit through his lip in fear. "Peter, no way, don't even think about it. Wake up right this instant, Peter Pevensie!"

He was wobbling under his burden, but soon burst into the medical tent and deposited the limp form of his brother onto the nearest pallet. "Please, you have to help him!" he cried, unable to tear his eyes from his brother's too pale face.

The head healer, a faun named Marnus, hurried forward and began to remove the armor and cut the chainmail away from the young High King's wound. "What happened?" he asked as he worked.

Edmund shook his head from the corner he had backed into. "I…I don't know," he muttered, stomach roiling at the sight of so much blood. "Is he…is he going to make it, Marnus?" he whispered.

Marnus' hands momentarily froze, but he didn't look up at the younger King. After a few seconds, he replied, "I think you'd best send for Queen Lucy and her cordial, King Edmund. I doubt there is much I can do with so much blood loss and the damage done here."

Oreius burst into the tent suddenly, nearly toppling the healer over as he rushed to grab more compresses for the High King's wound. "King Edmund!" he called out. "The giants are attacking, Your Majesty! You must do something!"

Edmund's eyes once again took on the look of a deer in headlights back in England. "B…but, Peter!"

Oreius situated himself in front of Edmund, effectively cutting his view of Peter off. "You can do nothing more for your brother than to send word to Queens Lucy and Susan, sire. You are needed in your brother's stead to lead the battle. Don't let his efforts die by not acting. King Peter wished to end this as bloodlessly as possible. It didn't work. But it can still go in our favor."

Edmund looked up and met Oreius' eyes. "You're right. He would want me to finish this," he said with conviction, drawing himself up to his full height. With one last look toward Marnus and Peter, he slapped the tent flap open and hurried out.

"You, there, Gripehook, I'll need a message delivered to the Queens' encampment with the greatest of haste." He took a proffered parchment and quickly wrote out a message. "Peter badly wounded. Need Lu's cordial. Come quickly and be careful, the giants are attacking as I write."

He watched for a moment as Gripehook took to the skies and headed off to where Susan and Lucy were camped with the army reserves. He could only hope they arrived in time. Spinning, he hurried back into the medical tent and to Peter's side.

The High King was still unmoving, his chest rising and falling with increasing difficulty. "Peter, hold on 'til Lu gets here. She'll have you right as rain in no time. I love you, Peter. I hope you know that." He wiped a trickle of blood from his brother's chin and then turned on his heel and nearly ran from the tent, casting orders as he went.

Now it was time to do battle and he would do it with his brother's hope for peace on his mind, not with vengeance, for that wasn't the Just way of doing things.

"Lucy arrived just in time with the cordial, or so I've been told," Peter said, absentmindedly rubbing the area of his old wound. The scar was still there, an innocuous looking circle of discolored flesh, all that was left of the wound that very nearly took his life in Ettinsmoor.

Caspian was silent. His hands were clenched so tightly on the reins, it looked like he was going to break through them. "What cretins," he muttered. "I know there are those who are ruthless in this world, my uncle counted among them, but that is going too far. The Telmarines at least adhere to a code of honor in battle. Those giants were truly barbarians."

Peter sighed. "Some of them were, yes, but there were some giants who were far better than those we fought in Ettinsmoor. I wonder if perhaps there are some at the How. If they are living still, I doubt they would pass up a chance to rid Narnia of a blood-thirsty and power-hungry usurper."

The two lapsed into silence – Caspian imagining the horror Peter must have gone through and Peter remembering how his siblings had latched onto him like they planned to never let go when he had woken up in the medical tent after the battle.

The first thing he was aware of was the smell of flowers. His first thought was that maybe he was in Aslan's country. There would surely be many flowers there. Then, there was pain. That threw him. He wouldn't feel pain in Aslan's country and Lucy's cordial should have taken care of any injuries, so why did his left arm hurt so much?

Wrenching his eyes open, Peter saw Susan seated in a chair beside what was obviously a bed in the medical tent. A bed that he was lying in. As usual. He saw Lucy curled up in her sister's lap, much like she had done when she was younger.

Turning to his left, he saw the reason for his pain. Edmund had fallen asleep with his head resting on Peter's arm and part of the younger King's shoulder armor was digging into the fleshy part of Peter's forearm.

With a grimace, he pulled on his arm, jostling Edmund from his slumber. "What..." the dark-haired boy muttered, wiping sleep from his eyes. Those same dark eyes took in the arm that was being rubbed slowly and followed the arms up to see Peter's blue eyes open and glaring at him. "Peter!"

Edmund's cry woke Lucy and Susan, the former toppling from her sister's lap onto the floor with a muffled "ouch" that quickly turned into a shriek of joy. "Oh, Peter, we were so worried when you didn't wake up. I thought I'd gotten here too late!"

The Valiant Queen flung herself onto her oldest brother and hugged him firmly. He wrapped a weary arm around her shoulders and kissed her hair. "I'm all right, Lu. You got here in time. Shush, please don't cry!"

Lucy wiped a few stray tears from her eyes and managed a small smile. Susan leaned over and kissed Peter's forehead like a mother would a son. "You, Peter, need to stop this. It pains us greatly to sit beside your sickbed and hope you are well."

Peter blushed. "I'm sorry, Susan. I didn't mean to get hurt, really, I didn't. It just happens, you know. But I'll try to avoid such things in the future." He turned his head toward Edmund who had been silent the whole time.

He was surprised when his brother levered him up into a sitting position, drawing a grunt of protest from the recovering High King. That done, Edmund proceeded to lightly smack his brother upside the head. "That's for scaring the life out of me, Peter," he said, eyes strangely glassy.

When Peter looked at him funny, he sighed. "I couldn't very well hit you when you were lying down. It wouldn't be proper." Then he pulled the older King to him in a strong hug. "I thought I was going to lose you, Peter. You didn't see what I saw when I pulled you off of Oreius and when they got the armor and mail off. It was the scariest thing I've ever seen. I know what you felt like at Beruna now, I think."

Peter clung to his brother and spoke quietly, "I'm sorry, Ed. I should have listened to you this time around." He pulled back a little and brushed Ed's fringe from his eyes. "And, Edmund? I do know you love me."

Ed's eyes widened. "You heard?"

Peter nodded. "I did hear. Did you ever doubt it?"

His brother shook his head. "No, but I didn't know if it was the last time I'd be able to say it to you."

Lucy jumped in here. "Well, enough of this melancholy, gentlemen. I think it's time to get a little food into you, Peter. And you too Ed, you haven't eaten since you got back from the battle."

Peter looked up abruptly at that. "Hey, wait, what about the giants? Did we win?"

As one, his siblings looked at him and chorused, "Oh, do shut up, Peter!"

Before Peter could respond, Edmund continued, a bit of pride in his voice. "Of course we did. I had it sorted!"

Peter smiled at his brother before ruffling his hair as Lucy called out and asked for food to be brought to them.

The four Pevensies enjoyed a small meal, glad to be together, and alive.

A/N: Two words … please review?? Also, please note the Pevensies are only a few years into their reign in my Ettinsmoor flashback.