A/N: Thanks everyone for the reviews! They are very much appreciated. I try to reply to them, sorry if I missed you. Solstice, since your reviews are anon, I can't reply, but I want you to know they mean so much to me!! Enough of that gushing, on with the chapter!

Part Twenty-Two:

He had already counted the knots in the wooden door and had moved on to tallying cracks. Shifting from foot to foot, he muttered, "Just knock. Knock on the door, Caspian."

The young King poised his hand inches from the solid door but still couldn't bring himself to connect with it. Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his hair.

"Come on, Caspian," he grunted. "It's not that difficult. It's a door. She's your aunt. You didn't even hesitate for a moment to run headlong into battle against a foe twice as strong. But you can't bring yourself to knock on a door?"

Scrunching his nose, he straightened up and raised his hand again, this time succeeding in moving it forward – only to have the door swing open and his hand meet air as a body, head bowed, hurried through and knocked straight into him.

Caspian, startled, toppled backward and landed hard on his backside.

"Caspian!" A woman's voice exclaimed, before amending, "I…I mean, Your Majesty. Please…please forgive me, I didn't know you were there."

The young King looked up, wincing at the smarting pain. "Quite all right. My fault really. Lingering in front of your doorway as I was," he said, dragging himself to his feet and wishing nothing more than to rub away the pain – but refraining from it in light of where said pain was located. "I was hoping to speak with you," the young man said. "I did not see you at dinner."

Prunaprismia frowned, but drew back into her room and held the door open to Caspian. Stepping through, he couldn't help the shudder than ran through his frame as he remembered the last time he'd been in this room.

The woman shut the door behind him and hurried to the far corner where a bassinet had been set up. Reaching down, she pulled her infant son out and held him to her breast defensively.

"What can I do for you, Your Majesty?" the woman asked, eying him from the corner but making no move to come closer to him.

Caspian swallowed the lump in his throat and raised his hands in a sign of peace. "I just wish to speak with you," he said quietly. "I wanted to make sure you had everything you need for yourself and for the baby."

There was a derisive snort.

"I need my husband," she said callously. "Can you bring him to me? Oh, no…you can't. He's dead." She turned away. "Nothing is the same and nothing ever will be, Caspian. Nothing you can give me will be able to replace the hole in my heart."

Caspian hung his head. "I am sorry. I never wished for many of the things that happened to happen," he said, trembling. After a moment he looked up again. "But what was I supposed to do? Miraz sent archers to my room the night your son was born. I watched them fire arrow after arrow into my empty bed, thinking I was in it."

He stepped closer. "I am sorry for his death, if only because it hurts you and leaves him without a father. I know the pain of growing up without parents. No one, no matter how hard they try … or don't try … can replace a real parent."

Prunaprismia looked up as Caspian drew nearer, a moment of fear crossing her face before she beat it down and straightened up. "What do you want from me, King Caspian?" she asked again.

Sighing, Caspian drew to a halt. "I want to know what I must do in order for you to be happy."

She walked past him and to the balcony overlooking the courtyard. He followed her, coming to a halt just inside and keeping his distance from his aunt and the child.

"My future went from a Queen, who knew her son would want for nothing in life, to a widow whose son is nothing more than a threat to the new King of Telmar's reign," she didn't look at Caspian as she continued. "What will you do when he gets older, should he wish to take the throne? Will you have him killed? Exiled?"

Caspian was shaking his head. "No, I would never. I could never," he hesitated, realizing he had made just as poor a suggestion not that long ago. Shaking the thought, he continued. "I had thought of naming him my heir, as I do not have one and should something happen to me, there would need to be someone next in line for the throne."

That made Prunaprismia turn around. "You did? It would be foolish."

He frowned. "Why?"

With a shake of her head, she spun back around and muttered, "A boy king," before continuing louder. "Surely you realize that if you were to do such a thing, you would be setting yourself up for a revolt later in life," she said. "Think about it, any lord displeased with you could rally behind an heir. Almost as the Narnians rallied behind you, I expect."

Caspian cringed as he realized the validity of her words. He didn't reply. Instead, he stepped out onto the balcony. "What would you have me do? Do you wish to remain in the castle? I will not cast you from the only home you know…"

The woman looked down at the cherub-faced baby in her arms.

"I do not think I can be comfortable here," she said quietly, all fight seemingly gone from her now. "These Narnians are the stuff of nightmares and I do not think I will ever sleep easy if they are around. Even if you say they are honorable and not the beasts we were taught to believe, I cannot change a lifetime of fear."

She pulled back the blanket from the young baby's face. "I cannot remain in fear for him for the rest of my life," she turned toward Caspian and finally looked up at him. "But I shall do whatever you wish of me, King Caspian."

The young King reached forward and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I too feared the Narnians," he said. "But all it took was a short time in their presence to realize they are not what we thought. I ask you to give them a chance. Help Queens Susan and Lucy prepare the banquet feast for three days hence. If, when the feast is ended, you are still uncomfortable, I will do all in my power to find a place for you and your son where you will feel safe and prosper as long as you both live."

He let go. "It is all I can offer you," he added quietly.

She swallowed hard and then nodded shallowly. "I will do as you ask, King Caspian. Tell Their Majesties to meet me in the Great Hall in the morning and I will aid them in preparing the banquet."

Caspian smiled lightly. "Thank you, Aunt Pru."

He would have liked to have spoken more. To have told her he wished he could bring her husband back, if only to make her happy, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

This woman had been charged with his care all his life, and while she did not hate him, she had not loved him like a son either. And while he cared for her, Miraz's betrayal was still too near.

He bowed lightly to her and returned to the chamber door.

Before he walked through, he turned back to her. "What is the baby's name?"

Looking up, Prunaprismia's eyes shone with pain. "Miraz. The second."

Caspian's heart lurched, but he only nodded in response, unable to form words. Walking through the door, he pulled it closed behind him and then leaned heavily against the stone wall beside it.

"Ed, for the last time, stop hovering!"

Peter stopped walking abruptly and Edmund was hard-pressed not to bowl into him. The High King tapped his foot on the ground and waited. And waited some more.

"Edmund…" he growled. "Beside or in front of me. There is no need to hold out your hands to catch me, I'm not going to fall."

With a sigh, Edmund drew abreast of his brother.

"Don't come crying to me if you do fall over then," he said grumpily. "I'm warning you, Peter, I know your 'I'm-so-tired-I'm-going-to-fall-over' look and it's the one you have on now."

Peter mock shooed him and then laughed. "Come on. I am tired, so we best be getting to our room. The herald said it was the third door on the right. Which would be…this one."

The young High King pushed open the door and the brothers both peeked their heads through, taking in the décor. Two beds were situated one on each side, with the foot of both pointing toward the middle of the room. Each occupant had a comfortable chair, a wardrobe, a desk and mirror. There was a small doorway on the right that they assumed was a washroom.

Peter raised his hands and in a chanting voice: "Praise Aslan! There are beds. With sheets. And blankets that aren't full of leaves or dirt. Oh, and look, Ed, actual sleep clothes!"

In his excitement, Peter hurried into the room and even Edmund's cry of warning wasn't in time to stop what happened next. His foot caught on the woven rug and Peter toppled forward, thrusting his hands out instinctively to catch his fall.

As weight fell on his left arm, Peter cried out and the limb buckled under him, his shoulder slamming into the edge of the dais the bed was sitting atop.

The pain was so intense, for a few seconds he couldn't even draw breath. His body had seized up and was shaking. Edmund was on the ground at his side in seconds, calling out, "Peter. Peter, can you hear me? Peter?"

Hands were on him then, lifting and he whimpered as he started to return to himself. Once Edmund had him sitting up, he turned pain-filled eyes on the younger boy.

"I…sh…shoulda lis…listened," he stuttered, clenching his teeth against another cry of pain and pulling his left arm in tight to his body, afraid to move even a hairs-breadth in any direction.

Edmund was pulling at his coronation tops to get a look at the wound and he gasped in dismay when he saw blood seeping through the light blue undershirt.

"Pete," he said quietly. "Oh, Peter. I swear next time I am so not listening to you. You've gone and opened it up again." He stood, gently pulling Peter to his feet. "Come on, sit on the bed. I'll take care of it and then you can go to sleep."

When there was no argument, not even an "I'm fine" from Peter, Edmund knew his brother was overly tired. As if the trip hadn't already told him that…

"Here," he said, holding out a handful of bandage. "Hold this until I ask for it." Peter lightly clutched the bandage in his right hand, his left still pulled in tight.

Many winces, grunts, whimpers and jerks later, Edmund was pulling Peter's tunic and then his undershirt over his brother's head. He quickly re-wrapped the wound with the clean bandage and tied it tightly, making Peter strangle a yelp, before slipping a white night shirt over Peter's head.

He moved down and helped Peter with his leggings, steadfastly ignoring the blush on the High King's face as he helped him step into the white sleep pants.

"There," the younger King said. "How does that feel?"

Peter eyed him blearily. "'S good," he muttered. "But I think it'd feel better if I was lying down." He held out a hand for Edmund to help him, which the younger boy readily did.

As soon as the High King's head hit the pillow, his eyes drifted shut and he subconsciously burrowed as deeply into the mattress as he could, tugging the blanket up to his chin and twisting until he was comfortable.

Edmund stared down at his brother, pursing his lips. When he was sure the other King would not wake up, roll out of bed and injure himself again, or start tossing in the throes of a nightmare, the Just King turned to change his own clothes and climb into the bed across the way.

He was just about to lay down when his eyes fell on the sleeping Peter yet again. With a small sigh, he tossed aside his blankets and took a step back to the other side of the room. Hesitating, he contemplated for a moment and then grabbed the blanket from his bed and took it with him.

Settling into the chair beside Peter's bed, he drew his legs up and curled sideways on the seat. Draping the blanket over himself, he rested his head against the back of the chair and set a hand onto Peter's outstretched right arm.

The High King twitched, but did not wake.

Still frowning, Edmund scrunched his eyebrows before making yet another decision. Pulling off his blanket, he slowly and carefully climbed on Peter's bed, the large mattress only slightly dipping under his weight.

Turning on his side to face his brother, and dragging his blanket over himself, he set his hand back on Peter's arm and smiled lightly. That felt about right.

If Peter so much as moved, Edmund would know it right away. With that in mind, the younger King smiled lightly, closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.

Susan glanced toward the entrance to the hall again. It was getting late and none of the boys had shown up to breakfast yet. She was beginning to wonder if there had been some change of plans that she and Lucy had not been informed of.

"Maybe they just overslept a bit," Lucy said, nibbling on a piece of toast beside her sister. "I mean, it isn't totally unlike Peter and Edmund to be last to breakfast."

The older Queen shook her head. "Yes, well, I should think after we embarrassed them with that story of King Lune's visit that they would be more inclined to follow protocol, at least for a little while."

Lucy opened her mouth to reply but was cut off as the herald from the night before pushed open the doors and everyone jumped to their feet. "Announcing, His Majesty, King Edmund of Narnia."

Ed, grumbling and blinking his eyes tiredly, hurried past the man and up to the table where Susan and Lucy were waiting. He nodded to them and sat down, everyone else following suit soon after.

"You, brother, are late," Susan said, trying to sound annoyed, but unable to really achieve it as she took in her brother's somewhat bedraggled appearance. "Edmund, did you get any sleep?"

His toast stopped midway to his mouth and he looked over at his older sister. "Uhm…"

She shook her head. "Ed."

"What!" He said, waving his hand and spreading crumbs along the table. "I had to take care of our dear brother, who was so very tired and yet so very stubborn, that he toppled over in our room and reopened his shoulder wound."

Lucy and Susan gasped. "Oh, no!" Lucy exclaimed. "Is he all right?"

Edmund, seeing that perhaps that hadn't been the best way to break the news, nodded quickly. "Oh yes, he's fine, Lu. But he was still sleeping soundly when I woke up, so I decided to let him sleep in. One missed breakfast isn't going to amount to much."

His sisters didn't look completely convinced, but they were prevented from any further inquiries as the doors to the hall flew open and a harried Caspian practically hurtled through them.

As he moved forward, the herald, somewhat at a loss, called out in a rush. "Uh…announcing, His Majesty, King Caspian!"

The young King ground to a halt, eyes widening as he realized he hadn't waited to be announced, just burst into the hall in his attempts to get to breakfast at least somewhat on time.

Meeting Edmund, Susan and Lucy's amused eyes, the wild look left Caspian's and he let a small, rueful grin cross his face. "Please excuse me," he said aloud, not bothering to hide his rush toward the head table this time.

Slumping into a chair, he felt like letting his head fall into his hand, but thought he probably shouldn't breach anymore rules or customs or traditions or silly old "a-King-shouldn't-do-this-or-that's".

Edmund smiled and shook his head. He could remember many a meal that he or Peter had run into, forcing a herald to speak at alarming speeds to announce them before they got too far.

He decided to cut the new King a little slack and didn't comment on his grand entrance. Caspian, calmer now, straightened up and glanced at the empty chair to his right.

"Where is Peter?" he asked, eyes darting to Edmund first.

The younger King explained what had happened last night. "I let him sleep. Knowing Peter, he'll be up in a few hours at the latest. He'll be fine with all that rest."

The Telmarine King nodded, but made no move to answer. Edmund, somewhat surprised by that, looked up and found Caspian's eyes riveted on the entrance to the hall.

Clearing his throat, the herald spoke. "Announcing, Her Maj…erm…the Lady Prunaprismia." His voice fell oddly flat at the end, as if he wasn't sure he'd done the announcement right.

Standing in the doorway, the former Queen looked younger than her years and strangely lost. Her eyes darted to the herald, who bit his lip but said nothing.

Gathering herself, she walked forward, veering for the head table.

Caspian, Susan, Lucy and Edmund's eyes followed her progress across the hall. The former had cringed at the fumble the herald made, and wondered if he should speak with the man about what titles would be changing before the next meal.

When Prunaprismia reached the table, she dipped a shallow curtsy and then stood straight again, eyes glancing with slight disdain on Lucy. Caspian wondered what that was about, but was glad it didn't appear to bother the girl.

"I am prepared to aid the Narnian queens, as requested, King Caspian," she said, no pleasure in her monotone voice. "If they are finished eating, there is quite a lot to do and it wouldn't be prudent to dally."

Susan and Lucy exchanged glances, the latter's clearly stating to her sister, Oh, this is going to be so much fun…But both girls cast smiles on the former queen and stood.

"We are ready, Lady Prunaprismia. But before we go, we must collect King Caspian's new Castelaine," Susan said, nodding lightly toward the young Miriam seated with her father.

Caspian and Edmund watched as the three females collected Miriam and left before looking at one another. "I hope that I made the right choice, asking her to help them," the Telmarine King said wearily. "She used to be so different. I do not know this woman that she has become."

Edmund patted the older King's arm. "Tragedy can change a person, Caspian," the boy said. "Give her time and she might become the aunt you remembered."

Seeing that the other King was still melancholy, and noticing Glozelle at a nearby table, Edmund suddenly grinned devilishly.

"I'm feeling a bit over-energetic," the Just King said, standing. "I fancy a bit of light swordplay. Care to join me, King Caspian? I was thinking of asking General Glozelle to give me a challenge."

Caspian's eyes lit up at the prospect of watching his former teacher's well-known prowess and the legendary skills of King Edmund pitted against one another.

"I should like to see this," he said, standing as well and following the younger King to where Glozelle had until recently been seated with his daughter. He looked up as the Kings approached and hurried to stand and bow.

"King Caspian, King Edmund. How may I be of service?" Glozelle asked, brows furrowed at the oddly exuberant look in the younger King's eyes. Something told him this was either going to be a lot of fun, or quite painful.

Edmund glanced around, careful not to announce his intentions too loudly for fear they would end up with quite an audience. "I had hoped you were well enough for a little two-sword action," Edmund said. "It's been too long since I've had good competition. Two swords are definitely not Peter's forte."

For a moment, he thought Glozelle would try to bow out. After all, it wasn't everyday someone was asked to duel a King, let alone one who, tales told, was exceptional with two swords.

But the man only smiled lightly and nodded in agreement. "I would enjoy that, as well, my liege," he said. "Shall we meet on the training ground in ten minutes? Light armor?"

Edmund nodded. "That ought to do. We aren't going to be all out dueling, since I don't' think either of us are up to par yet," the young King said, indicating his still sore arm. "I'd say arm and shin protection ought to cover it."

The three broke up, Caspian following Edmund to the chamber he shared with Peter since the younger King wasn't familiar with the castle layout and would never find the training fields in ten minutes if left to his own devices.

Pushing the door open quietly, Edmund poked his head in through the crack and then stood straight and huffed. "He's not here," he said. "I wonder where he went?"

Caspian shrugged. "Perhaps he needed some time alone?"

Edmund let out a short sigh. "I suppose," he said, now pushing open the door and entering the room. "I'm being silly, really, but I just don't like to let him out of my sight. Ever since we were told he was dead."

A hand came down on his shoulder. "You are not being silly, Edmund," the Telmarine King said firmly. "You have every right to not want your brother far from your side. I would feel the same, I think. But come, the day is beautiful and this is the first day where we do not have a battle hanging over our heads."

The younger King nodded with a small smile as he placed his last piece of armor onto his forearm, and pointed with a finger toward the chair beside his bed. "Can you grab my swords?" He said, distracted by an unusually uncooperative clasp.

When the two sheathed swords were suddenly thrust under his nose, he jumped in surprise and yelped. "Don't do that!" He laughed out, reaching for the blades and strapping them to himself.

Caspian laughed. "Sorry," he said, shaking his head.

The two Kings hurried out of the room and through the corridors to the training field.

Queen Lucy the Valiant wanted nothing more than to scream in frustration. The preparations for the banquet were actually going well – that wasn't the root of her exasperation.

The woman currently debating the menu with Susan was the problem. She had yet to so much as acknowledge either Lucy or Miriam, and the young Queen was nearly finished being patient.

"So tell me again," Miriam chimed in from beside Lucy, who was holding out two table linens. "The one that has the gold embroidery is for when the guests include foreign royalty. And the one with silver edging, is for any other guests?"

Lucy smiled and nodded. "Yes, just try to remember that gold signifies royalty. Sort of like, gold is more precious than silver, and royalty is higher ranking than not."

The young Telmarine was a quick study and Lucy was glad for it since she was still rather distracted by being cast aside by the former Telmarine queen.

As she was about to show Miriam the various pieces of place settings, she heard something that peaked her interest.

"And of course, as is custom, the main course must include a portion of lion's meat…"

Letting out a sharp breath, Lucy handed Miriam the fork in her hand and turned around, speaking as she did so.

"I think it would please the Narnians attending if we refrained from serving lion's meat," Lucy said firmly. "Considering Aslan is a lion, it just wouldn't do."

The Telmarine woman frowned. "Lion's meat is a Telmarine delicacy," she countered. "It is customary to serve it at state functions." She turned away and began explaining the reasons lion's meat was essential to Susan, but Lucy came around the table and stepped in front of her.

"I am able to make decisions here as well, ma'am," the youngest Queen stated in an even tone as Prunaprismia frowned at her. "My head does more than just hold up my crown."

Turning to her sister, she continued. "I'm sure Queen Susan will agree, serving lion's meat to Narnians would be highly disrespectful and it would not due for King Caspian to make such a blunder at his first state function, would it?"

Prunaprismia seemed to study Lucy a little closer now. The nine-year-old was much shorter than the dark-haired Telmarine woman, but when she spoke she sounded older.

Preparations forgotten, the woman crossed her arms defensively across her chest. "How could Narnia ever get things accomplished with children as rulers? And four of them, at that?"

"Perhaps if history had not been destroyed or suppressed, you would know the answer to your own question, Lady Prunaprismia."

Lucy whirled around and saw Peter leaning on the doorframe. His pose was casual, but the look on his face was anything but. She wondered how long he had been listening.

His gaze fell on her. "Is everything all right? Coming along?"

Lucy nodded. "Things were going wonderfully until we came to the question of serving lion's meat as part of the main course," the youngest Queen said. "I already told Lady Prunaprismia that it would be disrespectful."

Peter nodded. "Very," he said, looking to the woman. "Is there a reason you continued to press the issue?"

Huffing, the woman nodded. "Yes, there is, lion's meat is a Telmarine custom. King Caspian is a Telmarine King and this is a Telmarine castle." She looked at the blonde before her, her eyes betraying how uncomfortable she was beginning to feel surrounded by Narnians.

Peter saw this, and backed up out of the doorway a little. "Ma'am, this is no longer a kingdom made up entirely of Telmarines. Compromises will have to be made, and this is going to have to be one of the first."

Turning to Lucy and Susan, he nodded. "Let me know if you need anything," he said, then turned and walked away.

Prunaprismia looked ready to leave the room, but she held herself back. Shaking her head, she looked toward Lucy. "Is that how it worked? Your brother, the High King, came in and had the final say? I could see that, he at least is not so much a child."

Lucy sighed. "You keep saying that," she said. "Yes, we are young, but even the very young can have wisdom. We ruled Narnia for 15 years and in those years the kingdom prospered. Perhaps you should not speak about what you don't know, ma'am."

Turning away, she handed a swatch of table linen to Susan. "I need some fresh air. I'll be in the courtyard near the apple tree. I'm sorry."

Susan gripped her sister's hand and then let her go. She knew how hard it was for Lucy to come to grips with the fact she was only nine again. Prunaprismia's attitude was only exacerbating the problem.

With a weary sigh, Susan turned back around. "You do not have to like us, ma'am, but you do have to respect us. Please try to remember that. Now, there will be no lion's meat in the main course, but if a Telmarine should privately request it, they will not be denied. We still have to decide on the linens."

The clang of metal on metal filled the air, every so often punctuated by voices and even a few outright laughs. With the threat of war behind them, soldiers were no longer stony-faced as they practiced, and taking a leaf out of the Narnian King and the Telmarine General's book, they were enjoying their practice bouts.

"I used this move against one of the Giants in Ettinsmoor," explained King Edmund as he swiftly and precisely slashed with one sword, then the other, nearly clipping Glozelle, who had to leap backwards to avoid the blows.

The man smiled broadly, contemplating the move. "Do that again," he said, gesturing with one of his swords. The young King obliged, moving in with the same strikes – only this time he ended up with one of Glozelle's swords pointed at his chest and the other locking up Edmund's primary sword hand. "If I do that, your move is useless."

Disengaging and wiping sweat from his eyes, Edmund smiled. "I like that move, general, could you explain to me what you just did?"

The man nodded. "Certainly," and launched into the fine details of the foot work, blade work and timing required to use the technique properly.

Off to the side, Caspian was leaning against a tree just on the edge of the training field and watching as the two swordsmen danced circles around each other, thrusting, blocking, swinging and occasionally ducking or jumping away from blades.

Neither were trying very hard to hit the other, since they were not fully armored, but there had been a few very close calls so far and Caspian hoped nothing happened to Edmund – he didn't want to be at the receiving end of Peter's reaction.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice sounded in his ear.

"You know, Caspian, he wasn't always that good." From behind the tree, Peter emerged and took a seat beside the other King. "It took a while for both of us to really find our rhythm."

Turning their gazes toward the practice duel, both Kings were silent as Edmund once again brought Glozelle to a standstill, one of the young King's blades hovering above the man's heart.

Peter recognized the move that Edmund had just employed and cringed a little as he recalled the first time it had been used – the result being spectacularly unsuccessful.

Edmund must have seen the blonde King because he called an end to the bout and, sheathing his blades, hurried over to the two older Kings, Glozelle following a little more slowly.

"Peter!" the dark-haired Pevensie called. "Where were you? I went back to the room and you were nowhere to be found. I was getting worried."

Peter shook his head lightly. "You look terribly worried, Ed," he laughed, looking pointedly at his brother and his former sparring partner. "But if you must know, I woke, asked a servant where the kitchens were and proceeded to raid them, since I missed breakfast. Then I checked on the girls before asking another servant where I might find you all."

As Glozelle and Edmund took deep swigs of water, the former turned to the young King. "You are very good," he said, still slightly out of breath from the bout. "I cannot fathom how you can be so good, and yet so young."

Flopping to the ground beside Peter, Edmund shielded his eyes from the sun and replied, "I started training with Oreius not long after our coronation. Since I was so small, taking full blows with a shield wasn't working out for me. But I was short and fast, so two blades was the obvious choice. We reigned for 15 years, so I had plenty of time to get better."

He saw the look in Peter's eyes as it emerged, but he couldn't speak up in time to stop his brother. The older King smiled and patted Edmund's leg. "King Edmund here wasn't always as good as you see, General. I seem to recall a time when he thought he was better than he was during a practice bout."

Edmund groaned. "No, Peter, not that one. Any story but that one."

"You tell it or I will," the older brother said, dancing his hand away before Edmund could slap it. Peter smiled at the resignation on the younger King's face and leaned back, crossing his arms across his chest and trying to hide the wince that action caused.

He appeared to have succeeded because Edmund sat up and began telling the story with a brief glare in Peter's direction as he did so.

Edmund could feel the sweat trickling from under his light helmet as he danced away from one of Sacson's blades, then blocked the second blade with one of the two he held.

The Faun soldier was second only to Oreius when it came to dueling with two swords, and he had agreed to give Edmund a chance to try out his skills against a formidable dual sword-wielding opponent.

The young King had sparred against Peter, but his brother employed a longer sword and his shield and this, he was finding, was completely different.

Edmund had been training in dual sword combat for months now and he was getting pretty good at it, or so he told himself. He often watched Oreius and Sacson practicing with each other, or simply going through their techniques against an invisible enemy.

He watched so often, that he knew many of their moves by heart.

Frowning as he was driven back again, the young King set his jaw and decided to try and take the offensive.

Raising his swords and shifting into a firm stance, he went over the move he was going to use in his head just before Sacson lunged forward with one sword, which Edmund blocked, and swung with the other.

Edmund blocked the second blow and then spun, bringing both swords around and using the momentum of his spin and the strength of both swords to push Sacson's leading sword away from his body.

He saw the opening the move made, just as he had seen it make when Oreius did it, and he pulled his right arm in the opposite direction as he had also seen done – only to find he couldn't do it.

A jarring blow caught him off guard and he felt his hand go lax. Before he could clench the hand, the sword fell from his grasp and plummeted to the ground, the sharp edge of the blade slicing deeply into the top of his right foot as it hit.

Edmund dropped like a sack of potatoes, squeezing his eyes shut and gasping against the sharp pain as his hands immediately sought the wound. His hands grew slippery as blood poured from the wound.

He was vaguely aware of a body falling to the ground beside him and pulling his hand away from the injured foot. "Edmund, can you hear me? Ed?"

Peter.

"I…I…ouch," he said, or rather yelped by the end.

"You just had to try it," his brother muttered under his breath. "I know that isn't one of the moves that Oreius taught you. Why'd you do it, Ed? You could have been badly hurt."

Edmund hissed as Peter tightened a makeshift bandage around the wounded foot. Wincing as his brother drew him up and waved off any help, he stuttered. "I…I got impatient. I…thought I knew it. Could do it."

A deep voice chimed in from behind the two brothers.

"You do not have the muscle strength or skill to execute that move, King Edmund," Oreius said, following as the boys moved toward the castle healer's chambers. "In time, you will gain the ability, but that is why I did not teach that technique to you. Perhaps this is a lesson well learned?"

Edmund nodded vigorously.

"Of course, he went ahead a few months later and tried yet another move he hadn't been taught. Luckily it only resulted in his falling flat on his face," Peter laughed, mock wincing when Edmund did smack him in the leg this time.

The other boy frowned. "He makes it sound like I was regularly disobedient," the younger King said with a chuckle. "I only did it once…in a while."

Peter shook his head. "That first time though, definitely took the prize. I was shouting his name when I saw him go down, and he didn't answer. For a moment I thought he was dying because I saw this red pool start to form under him. I was most relieved to see it was only a flesh wound."

His brother huffed indignantly. "Only a flesh wound, Peter? This is the same wound that made you fawn over me like I was critically injured or something? The same one that left a three-inch scar across the top of my foot?" He smacked Peter again.

"Hey!" the blonde King laughed, shifting his position so he was out of arm's reach. "All right, it was a bit more than a simple flesh wound. Happy now?"

Edmund sniffed and nodded. "Yes. It'll do."

Glozelle and Caspian both shook their heads at the two Kings as the four of them got to their feet and started back toward the castle to wash up for lunch.

The Telmarine king and general chuckled yet again when they saw Peter sling his good arm over Edmund's shoulder and say, "Edmund. I think we need to have a conversation about sleeping arrangements, if that blanket was anything to go by…"

If this is how they acted when out from under pressure, how had Narnia survived its Golden Age?

A/N: We have a lot of painting to do here at home, and I have a lot of errands to run, so I'm uncertain if we'll be able to post again tomorrow night. I hope to, but I just never know! We're getting there...but all you wonderful people who said you want this to go on forever are rubbing off on me because it just keeps growing...