Author's Note: Well, here's another chapter. Sorry it took so long. I've graduated from highschool, begun preperations for a mission trip, and had family over. So it's been insane. Hopefully I'll be able to get the rest up in a timely fashion, but it's going to be a challenge. Anyway, I hope ya'll will enjoy this. There's a clip from Lucy's POV (I know, surprizing, huh?) and Reepicheep steals some of Gen. Patton's lines, but oh well.

Warning: If you were having trouble stomaching my battle scenes, you'll want to skip the portion in italics toward the end of this chapter. It's a rather disturbing dream that Edmund has (General idea curtesy of my dear friend, RedNex, but unfortunately, I have to take credit for the violence), which is meant to be a little harder on the stomach. I hope it won't cause any problems.

Anyway, have fun and here goes!

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There was a great contrast in Edmund's features. He strode purposefully, yet didn't seem to pay attention to where he walked. His flashing eyes seemed unnaturally dark against the paleness of his face. There were emotions, bubbling black ones, but no thoughts, at least, not as far as he could tell. That being the case, he almost tumbled over himself when a voice broke through his brooding.

"Sire!" called a centaur, racing up to him and bowing low. "I fear I have a bitter report to bring you. Miraz was slain in battle, but his general, it seems, has escaped along with a number of men."

"Yes, yes, I know," Edmund replied, waving a hand in the soldier's general direction and otherwise paying very little heed.

"But... how? This is new information."

"Aslan told me."

"I see," the centaur said slowly, as if thinking. "Well, shall we pursue them?"

This finally won a pause from the young king. Fingers slowly curling into fists, he looked down, but after the space of a few moments he breathed deeply and broke the spell. "No," he said quietly. "We see to the dead and wounded first. Then we'll hunt that dog." The last was not so much of a command as it was an oath.

"What?!" demanded an outraged voice, but Edmund was already moving on.

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"We'd best head back."

Lucy started to shake her head, but arms were wrapped around her and a kiss was planted on the top of her head. The kiss reminded her of Mother, and the warmth gave her comfort that she needed. She flung herself into that hug, returning it with interest. How had Susan gotten so good at this?

"Now, come on," Susan said, breaking away and grabbing hold of her hand. This time Lucy nodded and fell into step beside her elder sister.

Slowly, they made their way back into the hustle and bustle of the temporary camp. Just looking at it was nearly overwhelming to the little girl. Narnians were racing here and there, busy as could be imagined, while Telmarines gathered in wary clusters, guarded of course, by several stout warriors. On the far side, she could see the piles of bodies and the pallets covered restless wounded. Lowering her eyes, she shuddered, but Susan's hand on her back kept her moving forward.

Then Susan left, heading toward whatever duties awaited the eldest queen of Narnia. Lucy was rather glad she didn't have such pressing business to see to, being the youngest of them all, but it left her alone with her thoughts, and that was hard to bear. Just then a pair of voices broke through her daze.

"Still, I don't like it. Anyway, it's not very politic of him," muttered a collie.

"Fine then!" growled an exasperated Reepicheep. "Call your pups 'boys' when they misbehave. You'll find that the king isn't nearly so petty as you. Now shut up." Just then, he noticed Lucy and dipped into a low bow. "Hail Queen Lucy!" he called. "How fair you, my lady?"

A smile had been itching at the corners of her mouth, but any sign of it disappeared as she took in the mouse's question. "I suppose I'm alright," she replied.

"Only alright?" Reepicheep asked, coming to face her. "I should suggest that you be something more than that. Perhaps excellent, superlative, exemplary, or magnif-" Suddenly the knight cringed; tears were beginning to roll down Lucy's cheeks in an unchecked torrent. "Now now, I'm sorry for that. I wasn't thinking. I shall take a lashing on the morrow for my poor behavior. But still, my queen, we have taken the field when all odds were against us. Isn't that some cause for rejoicing?"

"My brother is dead!"

"My lady, the High King died a hero. He gave his life to buy us those precious few minutes that spelt victory. Were it not for him, there would have been no hope for us. I understand your sorrow, but I think it is wrong. We should not morn him, instead, I think we aught to thank the Lion that we were gifted with such a king, or brother, for however short a time." At last finishing his piece, the mouse reached up and patted her hand as best he could.

Lucy wasn't quite sure what she thought of all that, but it was plain to see that the loyal mouse meant nothing but the best. She had to fight down the sudden urge to hug the little knight, fearing that she'd crush him and knowing that it would, at the least, bruise his ego. Instead she just nodded, and walked off, hoping that she'd find a bed made up for her somewhere.

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There was a lengthy debate over where he should be buried and where the kings and queens should take up residence for the time being. It was decided by the remaining Pevensies that the High King should be buried in the ancient graveyard near some old ruins they claimed had once been Cair Paravel. Meanwhile, they sent dwarves to work on the Telmarine fortress so that it would be accessible to all Narnians, not just those who walked on two legs and stood six feet off the ground.

So the next few days were spent moving the army out of Aslan's Howe and into the old ruins, and to tell the truth, Caspian was shocked to see them. He knew that the Kings and Queens were out of ancient legend, but nothing had truly brought home their antiquity until he saw the crumbling foundations of the place they'd called home for so many years. Truly, he must have looked at the other children oddly for a while after that.

They buried High King Peter with all the honors befitting his position. The lion rampant was flown at half-mast. Red and gold ribbons fluttered in the sea breeze, being the high king's colors. The the trees grew a coffin of the rarest woods, more beautiful than any that had been seen before and the dwarves fashioned a headstone of marble, upon which, the centaurs carved a strange and magical epitaph. Dispite the weight of the situation, only his friends spoke. They even managed to get the D.L.F, as Queen Lucy called him, to say a piece. Caspian hesitated for a long while, recalling his early animosity with the king, but after a while he recalled that moment of understanding that had passed between them near the end.

Clearing his voice, he lowered his eyes and wrung his hands, hoping that his speaking would not bring offense. "I wish I had gotten to know you better, I think we could have been dear friends," he murmured. Immediately, he felt foolish for his words, but he forced himself to stay until the end of the ceremony.

Standing there, in the oppressive silence, he looked over the king and queens who still remained. King Edmund was lost in his own world, it was plain to see. Somehow Caspian saw him as an infected wound; angry and tense, painful to all involved. He would have to be lanced or the infection could very well spread. Queen Lucy was all tears and sobs, kneeling on the grass with her face in her hands. He felt sorry for the girl. Though he didn't know her well, he'd definitely gotten the impression that she relied heavily on her oldest brother. Queen Susan now, now there was an interesting riddle. She stood there silently, stoically, icy cold as the world crumbled around her. He knew that she'd loved her brother, at least to some extent, so why was she not mourning him as the others were? Suddenly an idea came to his mind, but then his thoughts were interrupted.

A loud horn sounded and the Narnians gathered on the nearby green. The mice pulled out their pipes, the dwarves their drums, and the centaurs their flutes. Music began to drift up. It was a twisting tune with haunting tones and bright melodies. Then all the Narnians joined in, dancing or singing. The Pevensies seemed to understand what was going on, but they did not join in. Finally Trumpkin walked up to him and explained that Narnians celebrated lives rather than mourning deaths. The idea was certainly a strange one, but Caspian had to admit that there was something about it that he liked.

Perhaps an hour or two later, the feasting began. Everyone had their favorite foots and wine and mead flowed unabated. Somewhere in it all, Caspian realized that Queen Susan was no longer present. Excusing himself from the table, he walked out of the ruined hall. True, everything was outside at this point, Cair Paravel being nothing more than ruins, but the staggering walls served to cut off the noise and firelight, leaving Caspian feeling as if he'd just gone outside. Pausing, he adjusted his eyes to the moonlight and searched the night air for any sounds that would tell him where the queen had gone. All he heard were the nightbirds.

"Queen Susan?" he called. He walked into the trees a short way and peered through the branches. Finally, he saw the queen sitting on a log, looking at the ground, statue still. "Queen Susan?" he repeated.

"Oh, do stop, Caspian. You heard Aslan, we're equals now," she replied quietly.

"I shall try... Susan," he said, concentrating on keeping her title off his tongue. "Why are you out here?"

"I just wanted to think. I never could get used to this tradition."

"I can agree with you on that. All this merriment seems... odd. We... the Telmarines mourn their dead, we don't celebrate."

"That's how England is too."

"May I have a seat?"

"Why not."

"Thank you." For a long while there was only silence as each surrounded themselves with their own thoughts. Finally Caspian looked up at Susan and found his voice. "You don't have to be like this," he murmured.

"Excuse me?"

"Like this; cold, silent. I haven't seen you cry a single tear since the High King... I know why you're doing it, but Qu- Lucy and Edmund aren't here right now. You don't have to be strong. Peter would not have wanted to see you like this."

Once again things were quiet and Caspian was feeling like he'd come where he wasn't wanted. Then he heard a shuddering breath, and looking over, he realized that tears were slowly rolling down the queen's cheeks. She didn't say anything to him, but she sat there, quietly grieving for several minutes. Suddenly she stood up and wiped the tears off her face.

"I'm sorry," she said, setting a hand on his shoulder. "You've been very kind, but I can't. Not yet. Lucy and Edmund need me, and they're probably wondering where I've gone off too." With that she turned and walked off, leaving Caspian to wonder if he'd done any good at all.

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Several hours later, Edmund collapsed on the make-shift bed. It probably had something to do with the enormous amounts of food he'd eaten, or the dry wine that warmed his veins, but he was more exhausted than he could remember. He didn't even change his clothes. The second his head touched the pillow he was out.

Peter! He shouted and raced to catch his falling brother. No, not you Peter! Not now! Not again! No matter how much he screamed though, the bolt was still there, plunged between the blonde boy's ribs. Blood boiled out of the wound and frothed in his brother's mouth, pooling around them, flooding the area.

"You've always been there, Ed," Peter whispered, his eyes wide and starting, the words bubbling out of his mouth. "You've always been there... until now." Then Peter's eyes rolled back and he went limp. Standing up in the lake of blood, Edmund raised his eyes, and suddenly he was looking down the shaft of a bolt, the twin of the one that'd slain his brother, and the general's face hung above it, leering, laughing, bright teeth flashing as he licked his lips and pulled the trigger.

Edmund jerked awake and instantly regretted it as his head began pounding. There was altogether too much light seeping through his tent, that was for sure. Then laughter echoed in his ears, menacing, and strangely familiar. Instantly the dream came back to him. Slipping out of bed, he picked up his sheathed sword and hung it about his hips. It was time that things were seen to.