A/N: Well, after that intense raid, I hope this meets your expectations. On my daughter, we were told today her case was one of the ones they watch and wait for it to go away. So HOPEFULLY this means we will not have to do anything at all to treat the extra fluid. Thanks for all the thoughts!!

A/N 2: This chapter has been revised slightly.

Part Eleven:

Edmund had been standing beside Peter when the High King had revealed the extent of his injuries and in seconds, he had dropped to his knees and gripped the older boy by the shoulders.

"Peter? What do you mean? You can't feel them at all? They're not just numb?"

Lifting a shaking hand up to his brother's arm, Peter tugged gently until Edmund leaned forward, and then the blonde did something he rarely, if ever, did -- let his head rest against Edmund's shoulder.

"I can't feel them, Ed," he whispered. "Just like last time. Not a thing. I look at them and think I'm moving them, my mind tells me I should be moving them, but they aren't moving."

Susan, who had been close enough to hear them, gasped and her hands fluttered to her mouth. She couldn't hold in the quiet sob that escaped, though, and Lucy frowned, stepping forward.

"What's wrong?" she said, moving to stand just behind Edmund and reaching forward to lightly touch the eldest brother's shoulder. "Peter?"

Peter didn't respond, only leaned more heavily into Edmund. The latter shifted so he was still holding Peter but could also see Lucy. Before he could say anything, Caspian, who had been quiet until that moment, spoke up. "He looked distracted when I found him, and had just been hit from behind with a spiked mace."

"And now, he can't feel his legs, Lu," Edmund added softly. She gasped and backed away. Edmund could see the guilt shining in her eyes.

She shakily handed Susan her diamond cordial bottle and then turned on her heel and ran swiftly from the field and into the How. Susan called out to her, but Lucy kept running. This was her fault. Her words had been the distraction, she just knew it.

Edmund too knew why Lucy had run, but he had bigger things to worry about right now and had to hope that Trumpkin, who had trailed off after Lucy, would be able to comfort his sister for a time.

Turning his attention back to Peter, he looked down his brother's back at the rough gouges in the leather tunic, dark with blood. With a frown, he gently dislodged Peter from his shoulder and pushed him upright. "We need to get you inside, Peter," he said. "Light as you are, you're still too tall for me, gangly brother-mine. What do you say we let Caspian give me a hand?"

Peter nodded slowly, looking up at the Telmarine hovering close to Susan's elbow. Caspian's eyes were filled with compassion, and not a little guilt as well. "I can take him," the prince said, stepping forward now and stooping beside Peter and Edmund.

Reaching one arm under the High King's legs and one behind his shoulders, Caspian grunted as he lifted Peter up and started toward the entrance of the How. He was astonished at just how little the High King seemed to weigh. Just by looking at him, you couldn't really tell that he was so slender, because he was so muscular and in such good shape. But by the time he reached the young man's favorite sleeping area, Caspian was more than ready to put him down and lightly settled him on the small pallet.

Edmund and Susan were right behind him, and the remainder of the Narnian strike force was milling anxiously around the chamber, every so often casting glances their direction and mumbling amongst themselves.

Uncorking Lucy's cordial, Susan knelt down beside Peter and showed him her intent. He held up a hand and said quietly, "I should warn you, last time it didn't work like it used to. It…well, hurt. Quite a bit. I don't know if it will again."

Susan and Edmund exchanged confused glances. "Did you speak to Lucy about that?" his sister asked. At Peter's nod, she sighed. "Well there's nothing for it, we'll just have to see. It did, after all, heal everything last time."

"Or so we thought," Edmund grumbled, putting a hand on Peter's shoulder, which his brother was quick to grasp with his own bloody one. Susan gave her brother the single drop of cordial and he immediately clamped his eyes shut, gasping and nearly crushing Edmund's hand in his suddenly white-knuckled grip.

The Just King gritted his teeth and took a steadying breath. On the outside, he looked calm. On the inside, he was anything but. I hate this. I hate that I can't ease your pain, Peter. I wish there was something more I could do to help you through this. Like take away all the pain…

He was broken from his thoughts when Peter suddenly slumped into stillness.

"Peter?" Looking down, he found his brother had either fallen asleep or lost consciousness. Shaking him gently, he realized it must be the latter because Peter wasn't responding.

Knowing Peter was out for the long haul, Edmund asked for a bit of privacy, which he and the High King were given, and he proceeded to strip away the bloody tunic and undershirt and dressed Peter in a comfortable, white linen, nightshirt.

He had some difficulty, seeing as his brother was dead weight, but soon the eldest Pevensie was clean, albeit unconscious. Edmund sat back on his heels and watched the gentle rise and fall of Peter's chest, reflecting on what this new development could mean.

Would Peter ever get feeling in his legs back? He had to believe he would, Edmund didn't want to even imagine his brother being crippled for life. He knew Peter would take it like the magnificent King he was, but Edmund would never forgive himself because this time he had been at the battle and he still hadn't helped his brother avoid ghastly injury.

With a quiet sigh, he turned to Susan as she reentered the area. "I think one of us needs to go find Lucy," he said. "You and I both know she's got to be feeling something awful right now, after telling Peter a failed raid would be his fault, and then having him come back like this. She's going to need us, Su. They both are."

Susan drew herself up and moved closer to Peter's pallet. "I'd like to stay here, if I could. I'm not sure I'm ready to speak with her yet. I'm still shocked she would say those things to Peter and I'm not sure I could remain objective right now." With a smile that was just barely big enough to be classified as one, she added, "And you're the Just King, after all…I'm sure you can do what I can't."

Edmund smiled a little in response. "I'll do my best, Su. But I know why Lucy acted the way she did and while I don't agree it was the right way to go about it, she had her reasons. I'll go to her."

He disappeared in the direction of the Stone Table – it was where Lucy took solace.

Quiet sobs filled the chamber and in the flickering light, Trumpkin could just make out the small, Valiant Queen sitting with her knees pressed against the relief of Aslan beyond the Stone Table. She was leaning forward into the wall, her back to the door, head cushioned on her arms, breath hitching.

Face twisted up in a frown, Trumpkin firmed his resolve and tried to settle a compassionate expression on his face. He imagined he had utterly failed since he rarely sported anything but a scowl these days, but it was worth a shot.

"Dear little friend," he said quietly, startling her. He watched as she swiped at her eyes and sniffled. "Oh, don't hide your tears from me, Queen Lucy, I've already seen them. What I want to know is; why are they there in the first place?"

Lucy looked over at him through the hair that had fallen from her braids, tear tracks marring her cheeks. "Oh, it's all my fault," she gushed, suddenly flinging her arms around the dwarf and sobbing on his shoulder. "I told Peter it would be all his fault if the raid failed, and I got angry just before you all left and reminded him that it was because of me he was even in Narnia and the High King. And then Caspian said he had been distracted when he got hurt, and I just know it was because of me, and it's all my fault, and…"

Trumpkin shoved her back, somewhat harshly, surprising her into silence. "Enough of that, Queen Lucy. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You didn't hit your brother with that mace. If it's anyone's fault, it's his own for letting himself get distracted in battle. He was king for many years and ought to know better."

Lucy was shaking her head vehemently. "No, no. It was my fault. I was so horrible to him, and I know my brother, he would do anything for us and I know this hurt him terribly. I knew he would be bothered by it, dwell on it, and I still did it because I was hurt and angry that he didn't believe I'd seen Aslan. I was so stupid and childish, Trumpkin."

He frowned. "Perhaps you were both of those things, but you couldn't have known your brother would be hurt so badly. You can't blame yourself for what has happened or you might find it's too late to apologize and make things right with your brother."

Twisting himself until he was seated beside Lucy, facing Aslan's image, he continued. "I had a brother, a twin actually. His name was Mankin and we were very close when we were younger."

Lucy was facing him now, listening intently.

"To make a long story short, we had a falling out. I felt we should get help from fellow Narnians, since we were being attacked almost nightly by wild wolves. Mankin wanted to go in, swords blazing, and deal with it ourselves. We were good enough, he thought.

"We argued. We yelled and we both said things we really didn't mean to say and we left for battle like that. Much like you and your brother. But unlike you and your brother, my brother didn't come back from that battle."

Lucy gasped and gripped her hands in her skirts until they turned white. "I…I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Trumpkin grunted, shifting until he was once again looking at Lucy. "I've made peace with myself, Queen Lucy. But I wasted many years wallowing in self pity. It wasn't until I went to Mankin's grave and told him I was sorry that I was able to put the past behind me and remember him without feeling all the pain and guilt rain down on me. You are lucky you don't have to talk to a stone, and you can get a response that I'll never have."

Standing, he reached out for her hand. "Don't you have a brother to apologize to?"

She smiled through her tears and took his hand. The two brushed themselves off and then noticed that Edmund was standing just beyond the Stone Table. He looked battle weary and was favoring his left arm. He was staring intently at Trumpkin, thanks in his expression.

"It looks like you've got it sorted, dear little friend Trumpkin," he said with a half-smile that almost, but didn't quite, reach his eyes. He looked to Lucy. "But Lucy's going to have to wait until Peter regains consciousness to talk to him."

He watched as Lucy's face crumpled in misery and he closed the distance between them quickly, letting her latch onto him and feeling her start to shake again. "Shhh, Lu, you know Peter will be all right."

Trumpkin edged away and out of the chamber, casting glances back at the siblings, and was content. He knew, somewhere, his brother would have been proud of him. And for once, he knew his brother's death had done some good.

Behind him, Lucy sniffled into Ed's shoulder and came away with blood on her cheek. "What, Ed? You didn't get this checked!" She tugged at the sleeve of his tunic, drawing a wince and jerk from her brother. "Let me?"

He nodded and sat beside her, allowing her to help him shrug out of his tunic enough to reveal the caked blood on his upper arm from the lucky arrow that had hit him before he could kick the tower door closed during the raid.

Edmund could tell Lucy was still uncomfortable around him. So he took it upon himself as the older brother to bring up the topic that needed discussing. "Lu?" She glanced at him, still working at the blood on his arm, cleaning it away with water from her water skin.

"Ed?" She said, not ready to give in with her brother. Trumpkin had been different. He wasn't over protective of Peter like Edmund was and she was afraid her brother would be terribly angry with her.

With a frustrated sigh borne of exhaustion, Edmund pushed Lucy's hands away. "Lucy Pevensie. I want to know what you said to Peter and why you said it. I can't help you both unless I know what happened. And Peter is going to need all three of us now, so we have to deal with this."

Lucy sat down hard. "Edmund, I know I was wrong. I know it. I was horrid. I was just so upset and angry that Peter blew me off and didn't believe that Aslan would be able to help us. Didn't even believe I'd seen him!" She told him everything that had happened between her and Peter.

Edmund frowned at her. "That doesn't give you license to say what you did, Lucy. You really hit below the belt a few times. And you know Peter, he takes everything so personally."

She nodded. "I know and that's why I'm so angry at myself, Ed. I know it's my fault he got hurt again. If he hadn't been thinking about what I'd said, he'd probably be just fine right now."

Now they got to it, why she'd run. "You can't know that, Lucy," he said. "I'm sure Trumpkin told you, Peter is a good warrior. He knows all about distraction. I know it's partly his own fault he was hurt, and I think when he's better he will know it too. But you are right, you were the distraction."

She felt the tears coming again. "What do I do, Edmund?"

He softened his tone and his expression. "When he wakes up, just be there for him. He's probably going to be very disturbed, Lucy. He told me about the first time he woke in that hospital and realized he had no feeling in his legs and he said he was petrified. I imagine it will be much the same.

"You are going to need to put aside your needs and you're going to need to do what is best for Peter. Right now, that is not asking for forgiveness. Wait until he is more himself, don't bombard him right away. He's not dying, so you needn't worry you won't have time," he said, patting her on the arm. "I know you can do what you must, Lucy. Aslan didn't name you Valiant without reason."

She smacked his uninjured arm. "Thanks, Ed."

He frowned. "Don't thank me yet, Lu. You still have to get past Susan."

Lucy groaned. "Oh why didn't I think before I spoke? I'm never going to forget that again, ever."

Edmund patted her shoulder. "I think that would be wise, Lucy. Very wise. But come on, I want to check on Peter again. I'm worried about his mental state and how he's going to react when he wakes up. The cordial hurt him again, just so you know, and then he passed out."

She let out a shaky sigh. "I was afraid of that. I think it will still work, but I imagine what is wrong with Peter is far more complicated than a sword wound or something. It might be harder for the cordial to reach it."

Her brother nodded. "We'll just have to keep telling Peter that, if it hasn't worked when he wakes up. We can't let him wallow, you and I both know he will. Especially since the raid failed to capture Miraz and we lost quite a few good Narnians, including one of Glenstorm's sons."

They walked along the tunnel in silence, each lost in thought – Lucy still feeling very guilty, but a little lighter since her two pep talks, and Edmund overwhelmed with worry for Peter.

Susan put down the arrows she was fletching when there was a groan from the pallet holding the High King. Edging closer, she grabbed his wrist and lightly gripped it. "Peter? Can you hear me?"

He shifted restlessly on the bed, brows furrowed perhaps in pain, perhaps in confusion. His eyes fluttered open and he looked at her hand around his wrist, then at her face. There was no recognition in his eyes.

"Where am I?" he said quietly. "How'd I get here? I thought I was going to drown."

Susan frowned. "Drown, Peter, it's not raining."

He actually glared at her. "Yes it was, I nearly drowned in it, I should know." He shifted again and his eyes widened. "Why can't I move my legs? What's…what? Where am I?"

The second oldest Pevensie's frown deepened. "Peter, you're in Aslan's How."

"How do you know of Aslan?" he whispered, fearful.

His sister swallowed. "Peter, who do you think I am?"

He looked at her askance. "A nurse? I'm in some sort of hospital, right? I remember a man, he helped me. Is he here? Can he help me?" he swallowed heavily, "Can he fix these?" He vaguely gestured to his lower half.

Pushing back her anxiety, she rose until she was standing over her brother. "Peter Pevensie, snap out of it! You are not in a hospital, you are not in Greece. You are in Aslan's How, and your legs are temporarily damaged because you were hit in the back with a mace during the night raid."

He frowned. "Night raid? Mace…" Peter's blue eyes widened then. Susan turned to see them focused on Glenstorm and Trufflehunter, speaking in low tones just behind her. She looked back to Peter, who was very still.

The blonde Pevensie shook his head. "I'm dreaming, that's it, I wished I was here and so I am seeing things." He jerked back when Susan suddenly smacked him. "What? Hey now!" But then his eyes seemed to clear a bit. "Su? Is that you? Am I really not in Greece?" He suddenly stopped talking, as if realizing that he was talking, and without any effort or pain. That wasn't right. In Greece, he could barely open his eyes, let alone string together sentences.

His gaze lifted back to the woman beside him. It really was Susan. She was looking down at him in concern. "Peter?"

He tried to move, but found his legs were dead weight and he stared at the blanket over them, suddenly clarity returning to him and the memory of falling to the ground from atop his horse slamming into his mind. "I really can't move them. Su? Susan? Did I already, did you give…have I?" His words came out in a rush.

She shushed him. "Easy, Peter. Yes, you've already had it. Everything is going to be fine. You need to just lay back and relax right now, don't worry about anything. Let us take care of you for a change."

It was at that moment that Edmund and Lucy entered and saw the "deer in headlights" look on Peter's face. Edmund sucked in a breath. So he still couldn't feel his legs. "Hey Pete," he said, forcing a smile onto his face. "Some stunt you pulled, standing in front of the minotaur until every last fighter got out of the castle."

Peter's face scrunched up to protest, but he didn't. His gaze locked on Lucy. He looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped himself and turned away, focusing on the ceiling above them. "I had to do something, Ed," he said, responding to his brother's comment instead of addressing Lucy.

Edmund sat beside his brother, crossing his legs under him. "Yeah, I know. You always did have to take things into your own hands and deal with it all by yourself. But in this case, I'm glad you did or we would have lost many more Narnians."

He added with a small smack. "Just don't do it again."

Peter smiled a little before it faltered. "Oh, Ed, what good am I going to be now?" He looked to Susan. "I woke up and thought I was still in Greece. I thought Su was a nurse and … I'm just so lost."

He was about to say something else when a small figure burst into their group. "My Kings and Queens!" He said, panting. "We've gotten word, the Telmarines have nearly completed the bridge at Beruna. We need a plan. They could be here day after tomorrow!"

Peter looked up at Edmund with helplessness, though he tried to hide it. The Just King turned to Trufflehunter. "I'll be right there, as will my sisters," he turned to Peter. "You will get some more rest. We're going to need you later on, but right now, leave things to us."

His brother must have had some lingering disorientation because he didn't protest, only nodded and turned his head toward the wall quietly. Edmund didn't want to leave his brother to wallow in his new paralysis, but Narnia needed them right now and as King, he had to do his duty.

Lucy and Susan followed him away, leaving Peter alone in his corner where he quickly drifted off into a fitful sleep.

It was cold and the rain was beating down on him. All along the ground were dead and dying British soldiers, each one with pained and accusing eyes seemingly burning into Peter.

Stumbling among the sea of dying men, Peter clutched his rifle tightly in his hands and headed in what he hoped was the right direction. His blonde hair was plastered to his forehead and he rounded a small hill only to grind to a halt and slip to his knees in the mud.

Blood pouring from his neck, Corporal Arty Smythe stood directly in front of him, his dead eyes boring into Peter's. He extended a blood-covered hand toward the oldest Pevensie, blood frothing from his mouth. "Peter…Peter…why didn't you…" Blood erupted from his mouth in a gloppy mess. "Why didn't you save me? You knew…you knew they were there. You killed me, Peter."

Peter was shaking his head. "No, no, I couldn't. They wouldn't listen, I couldn't do anything, Arty!" he cried, reaching out to try and warn the advancing man off. As Arty reached him, his face morphed into a swarthy, sweating blonde man with a rifle trained on Peter.

Fumbling for his own weapon, Peter jumped and waited for the pain when the gun in front of him barked off a shot. No pain came, but his hands were clenched to his stomach and when he moved them, they were coated in blood.

He looked up and promptly fell back. "Lu!?"

In the place of the soldier who'd shot him was his little sister. She was in a beautiful dress, a bright red, in sharp contrast to the death and muck around her. Her eyes were hard and accusing, like Arty's had been. The rain poured down around her, but didn't touch her. Her hair and dress billowed in the wind, but the effect only made her seem more distant, more untouched by what was going on around her.

"Why didn't you listen to me?" she said, voice harsh and unforgiving, each word stabbing into him like a knife in the heart. "I knew you'd fail, Peter. You didn't defeat the White Witch at Beruna, you couldn't capture Miraz. Why can't you do anything right? You leave death in your wake."

Her body suddenly grew until he was looking at Arty again. As Arty fell, the body morphed again into a Faun. A spear burst from the Faun's chest and he too fell. The body morphed again into Glenstorm's son. A crossbow bolt hit him in the shoulder, followed by another and another and his eyes locked on Peter's begging him to do something.

Peter reached forward and screamed as the centaur finally fell.

"NO!"

Even without the use of his legs, Peter was able to fling himself into a sitting position, arms trembling at the effort of holding himself upright. He saw the dark rock next to him and for a moment expected to feel the rain.

His head snapped to the side and instead of dead soldiers, or worse, advancing troops, he saw a group of Fauns and Centaurs eying him with worry. Gulping back a sob of relief, he nodded to them and then flopped back down shakily.

His heart was beating a mile a minute and he couldn't get the images of dying friends and of Lucy, skirts flapping in the wind, untouched by the rain, standing in the Greek countryside surrounded by death.

That was the most disturbing image of them all, he thought, as he put a hand on his chest and tried to calm down. His baby sister, who wasn't such a baby anymore, could skewer him better than any sword or bullet with just her words.

Part of him realized she didn't say those things, but the words she had spoken were still fresh in his mind and he put his hands on his face and scrubbed at it. He had failed, just as she had said. The deaths were on his hands, just like she had all but said.

He heard the clop of a centaur's hooves and then saw four legs next to his pallet.

"High King Peter?"

Looking up he saw a young centaur, a bowl of stew and a cup of water in his hands. "Dad asked me to bring you this," he offered the food and drink. "He said to stay and make sure you ate it because your brother and sisters are in a meeting." Setting the cup and the bowl on a nearby outcropping, he knelt down and pulled Peter into a sitting position so the High King could eat without choking.

Peter studied the young being. "Who is your father?" he asked suddenly. "And what's your name?"

Rising back to his feet and setting the bowl and glass into Peter's outstretched hands, the centaur said, "My name's Halston. My father is General Glenstorm." He turned toward a female centaur. "That's my mother, Willowwind." A frown crossed his face. "My brother died."

Peter nearly dropped the bowl and glass as the centaur in his dream flashed before his eyes and he remembered that same face, upturned in death, in the courtyard of the Telmarine castle.

"Your brother died in the raid," he whispered, eyes clouding in pain. "I'm very sorry, Halston." He looked up when Halston stomped the ground with one of his hooves, seemingly agitated.

"It is not your fault, Your Majesty," he said. "My dad told me you stayed until the last Narnian alive got out. You couldn't save everyone. Silius wouldn't want you to blame yourself, he would want you to focus on the next battle."

Halston's eyes widened suddenly. "Oh my, I shouldn't have done that, I shouldn't." He stamped the ground again. "I always let my mouth get away from me." he muttered. He looked up in surprise when Peter burst out into a laugh. "What?"

Peter choked on his next laugh. "Forgive me, Halston. I appreciate your words, young centaur, and I am glad you let your mouth get away from you. Be warned though, I know such a trait can backfire on you as well."

Seeming suddenly wise beyond his years, Halston said solemnly, "Queen Lucy."

Peter looked up. "What?"

The young centaur smiled. "I heard her, in the Stone Table room. Talking to that scruffy dwarf. She really is sorry, you know."

Peter looked away. "I imagine she is, Halston. I imagine she is. Hey, you better go, your mother is gesturing rather strongly. I think she thinks you were bothering me. Tell her I said it was fine, and I'll back you up."

The young centaur smiled, bowed and hurried off leaving Peter to his thoughts.

A/N: Next up, a bit more action and some planning. And some heroic Edmund, for all you Ed fans. Stay tuned! I'm hoping to keep posting one chapter a night.